


The Hidden Prince

by ProfessorMinnie (ProfessorTofty)



Series: A Lord in the Shadows [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Angst, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Rewrite, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, HPFF Forums, Hufflepuff Hermione Granger, Light Angst, Morally Grey Dursley Family (Harry Potter), POV Albus Dumbledore, POV Alternating, POV Andromeda Black Tonks, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, POV Hermione Granger, POV Minerva McGonagall, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Well-Meaning Albus Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 111,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorTofty/pseuds/ProfessorMinnie
Summary: Harry Potter is abandoned by his old world and thrust into the spotlight of the new. He must begin to take control of his legacy and destiny. No one ever said he would do it alone.A little Pureblood shenanigans, Slytherin!Harry Canon Rewrite.Part 1 of 7.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Severus Snape
Series: A Lord in the Shadows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888795
Comments: 102
Kudos: 154





	1. The Broken Cottage

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my wonderful betas Simplicius and magemadi at FFT and Mojo at HPFF for their tireless work on this fic. 
> 
> I would also like to thank Noelle, RonsGirlFriday, juls, and MalfoysAngel for their support and suggestions throughout this process.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are."  
> \- Machiavelli

Had he come sooner, Albus Dumbledore may have been able to save the Potters from their untimely death. Their cottage still smouldered with a green light from the blast of a curse, From the street, the protective enchantments ensured that no Muggle would have paid the smoking ruin mind. Dumbledore walked purposefully out from the end of the street where the lamps were at their dimmest, the fog at its thickest, the rustle of his silk dressing gown the loudest noise in the dying moments of this Halloween night. 

The street lamps grew dim and winked out entirely as he passed, as had a small array of pumpkins that had been set out on the doorsteps. The only light remaining came from the upstairs bedroom of the Potter’s cottage, perhaps a small desk lamp or even a fire, and the two streetlights immediately before the house. 

Dumbledore stood before the house, which ought to have been whole; untarnished, untouched. The timbers had been bowed outwards as if a giant had wrenched it open like a walnut. A large hole in the tiled roof and a blown-out wall belied a greater structural problem.

Moments later Hagrid caught up to him, fumbling his pink umbrella closed. ‘D’you expect trouble, Professor?’

Dumbledore looked up, smiling faintly at the giant. ‘No. I do not believe so. Nevertheless, I want you to be extremely careful. We have no idea what will come.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Keep the street clear. Warn me if someone should come by,’ Albus said. ‘Do not worry too much about an ambush. We would have been seen by now.’

Dumbledore waved his wand. A gossamer fog sprang outwards and rose upwards to cover the entire ruin. A low thrum beat through Dumbledore’s temple that matched a singular tiny heartbeat within: only Harry survived. 

‘He is within the upstairs bedroom,' Albus said to Hagrid. He flicked his wand and sent the spell-fog across the street into the darkness: no heartbeats, no witnesses That they were the first to find both Harry and any evidence of his attacker was crucial. Not even the Ministry could be trusted with Harry’s care. Too much was already at risk. 

Albus quickly mounted the stairs, entering the house. On the first floor, the change from a lively home to a ruin was barely perceivable apart from the creeping stillness that pervaded the cottage’s timbers. In the sitting room, he noticed the shards of the door and the haphazard nature of the couch, the overturned toys as well as the forgotten wand on the mantle. 

The family was gathered, as evidenced by the cooled mugs of tea on the coffee table. Yes, this is where they were. He surmised that the Potters had been taken by surprise and had a precious few moments to escape or stand their ground. 

Albus looked around. Nothing else was out of place, except for the wand on the mantle and the other he quickly found on the dining room table. There was however a leather-bound photo album on the dining room table. He swept his wand, noticing the rise leading to the upstairs. He swiftly closed the distance and moved upstairs. The stairs creaked as he did so.

In the hallway lay the body of his prodigal student, James. Albus looked over his fallen pupil and detected no outward sign of death, no sign of a struggle. James’ eyes were wide open, his glasses askew. His handsome face was frozen in an air of final defiance. A ring on James’ left pinky finger winked out of existence as Albus passed, hopefully returning to the family vault. 

James had been taken by the Killing Curse, which left no trace whatsoever. 

Albus closed his eyes and breathed slowly to push past his sorrow. Now was not the time to weep. He needed a clear head to do what had to be done. The Potters had been given over to the Death Eaters, their sworn enemy in this war, yet by whom? Only three people knew of their true location. As one of the trustees he, himself, was beyond reproach. 

Then again, he also thought the others, the Potters’ closest friends, were also beyond any sort of suspicion. Two had been told by the Potters and both were extremely proficient in mind-shielding techniques, the last defense against any sort of torture. The proficiency of course made any but the most concerted attempts to know their true motivations difficult at best. 

As Albus continued down the hallway towards the light soft sobs reached his ears in stuttering waves. 

Harry’s room described a far different story than the initial encounter. The bedroom door had been blown off its hinges. A broken chair had been thrown across the room. Without her wand, Lily had defaulted to a non-magical solution, one designed to delay Voldemort. It failed. 

Albus' gaze swept over the rest of the room, finding Hagrid over the body of Lily, her auburn hair hiding her final expression. There was also a pile of black robes and bone-white wand near the playpen. This was no ordinary Death Eater attack; the Potters had been murdered by Lord Voldemort, their leader, himself. Voldemort had taken the rumours seriously after all, to his apparent destruction.

The war was all but over. 

Sitting within was the newly-orphaned Harry Potter, his emerald eyes watery. 

The wall behind the toddler had been blown out, perhaps from the curse rebounding. Albus heard a splintering snap. He whipped his wand upwards, levitating a newly-fallen rafter from above him. He twisted his wand. The rafter transformed into a flock of crows that quickly rose into the night sky. 

Albus swept his wand once more. Lines of luminescent energy coalesced, crisscrossing over the whole of the house. However, none revealed how little Harry had survived. It was if the Killing Curse had merely given the poor boy a flesh wound and nothing more. Nothing that Albus detected at present gave any other explanation than a simple miracle. 

'Oh my dear boy,' Albus murmured, a small smile breaking his serious expression. 'How very, very lucky you are.'

He approached young Harry quietly, gently. 

'Come here, dear boy,' Albus said. He picked up the crying toddler and held him close. ‘You’re safe now.’

Albus thumbed the long gash on the toddler’s forehead. A streak of soft light trailed the bloody track, sealing the wound shut with a jagged scab that Albus likened to a lightning bolt. Harry quietened as well in Albus’ arms after the wound had been healed but continued to cry softly.

'It is quite alright, my boy,' Albus murmured. Harry’s parents had not suffered or did so only briefly. A Killing Curse had taken Lily Potter’s life, another had struck Harry. Albus, with Harry, walked quietly past the boy’s father and down to Hagrid, who was waiting outside.

Albus left the small room, carrying little Harry. Hagrid was waiting for them at the front entrance, surrounded by a gaggle of the Potters’ neighbours carrying flashlights. The anti-Muggle ward had finally failed. 

'What is going on?' one of them said.

'What happened to the house?' another asked of Hagrid.

'Hey, he’s got a kid! It’s bleeding,' another cried, trying to grab Harry from Albus. 

Hagrid placed a large hand on the Muggle’s shoulder, stopping their advance. The group was very clearly afraid of Hagrid’s imposing stature but unsuccessfully attempted to get past him all the same. Something drastic had to be done, and soon. They were already risking much as it was.

Hagrid kept the Muggles at bay. Albus quietly and calmly placed Harry on the couch, tapping his wand on a pillow that transformed into a large wicker basket with a fluffy pillow lining the bottom. He lowered Harry into the basket, wrapped in a tweed blanket. 

Albus jabbed his wand and a flash of white light blinded the onlookers. A dazed expression descended on their faces, a glazed and faraway glint to their eyes. They meandered away from the lawn without further protest, their movements methodical as they moved to return to their homes, to their beds. The wizards of the town wisely remained in their homes.

'Tha’s a scary spell, Professor,' Hagrid murmured. 

'Indeed it is,' Albus agreed. Memory charms were one of his least favorite to perform. After a short pause, he levitated Harry from the couch to the outside of the house. He handed Harry over to Hagrid, who looked at the boy with sad fondness. Albus collected the photo album and the Potters’ wands. 

By now the boy’s sobs had become intermittent sniffling, but he still looked distraught. Albus waved his wand once more, a clear liquid-like cloud shrouding the property once more. Hopefully, they would not be disturbed further with a newly-applied Anti-Muggle ward in place.

'I can’ believe it…' Hagrid said. Albus placed a comforting hand on Hagrid’s shoulder and led him slowly down the stairs.

'There’s nothing to be done now. We must leave.'

'They were so young, Professor,' sobbed Hagrid. 'So  _ young _ .'

Albus conjured a square handkerchief large enough to be a tablecloth and handed it over to Hagrid, who dabbed his eyes while holding Harry with his other hand. 

'What’re we going ter do, Professor?' Hagrid asked.

Albus closed his eyes. A silvery phoenix erupted from his wand and turned to regard him.

'Go to Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts immediately. Tell her: ‘The Potters have been killed. I would ask you to investigate Number Four, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. I will bring him by tomorrow.’'

The phoenix nodded and disappeared with a twirl of its ethereal wings.

'Privet Drive?’ Hagrid repeated. ‘Tha’ doesn’t sound like a wizarding town I’ve heard of.'

Albus shook his head. ‘No. It is not. However, Lily’s relatives live there. Mr Potter will live there.’

‘Say, er… Didn’t you live here?’

Albus smiled very faintly. Leave it to Hagrid to make small conversation in a time like this. ‘A very long time ago,’ he said. ‘On this very street, in fact.’

There were a loud crack and the brief roar of a motorbike. Albus whipped his head skywards. A Disillusioned motorbike barreled down the street. He readied his wand as the driver appeared in the dim light. Hagrid stepped behind Dumbledore, shielding Harry with his body. 

'Dumbledore? Hagrid?' a baritone voice called. Sirius Black, a handsome youth and somewhat of a rebel even at school emerged from the inky darkness carrying a motorbike and sidecar that shimmered into view. He was pale and on the verge of collapse. Hagrid’s hostile stance relaxed.

'What was the nature of your visit to my office before the summer in your fifth year?' asked Albus.

'I wanted to notify you about a change of address, and I had hexed Arthur Midgen earlier in the day,' Sirius replied with a small snort. 'What did I give to you last Christmas?'

'A pair of patterned woolen socks.' Here, Albus wiggled his toes and lowered his wand. He had worn the socks to bed. 'They were well-received.'

'Are they— Is James…' Sirius swallowed, not meeting either one’s gaze.

Albus nodded carefully. 'I’m afraid so.'

'How? No one knew! We were so careful,' Sirius said, his eyes watering.

'Yeh didn’t tell Remus?' asked Hagrid cautiously. 

'No, he was out of the country,' Sirius said. 'Only you, me, and—'

'Sirius?' Albus watched the young man slowly close in on himself. He had not met Albus' gaze in all this time. This was very suspicious.

'I have to… I have to find him…' said Sirius. 'Hagrid, take the bike. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.'

'Sirius, if you told someone…'

'I told no one!' shouted Sirius. 'I— I told no one.'

Albus nodded, pocketing his wand. 'You ought to find Peter, then. I do not know under what circumstances he would have divulged that information.'

Sirius’ gaze rose sharply to meet Albus’. Albus captured a brief glint of roiling hatred in the man’s eyes: to whom it was directed, Albus wasn’t entirely sure.

'Yes, I suppose I should find  _ Peter _ ,' Sirius spat. He turned and Disapparated without a second thought. Albus pocketed his wand.

'I don’ understand how this could’ve happened,' Hagrid said. Albus tapped the motorcycle, his magic searching for any enchantments.

'It is safe to ride, Hagrid. I suggest you take Harry to St. Mungo’s with all speed. You ought to keep the album safe as well, for when Harry is either settled or within Hogwarts.'

Hagrid nodded and lowered Harry’s into the sidecar. Dumbledore handed over the photo album and it was placed within Hagrid’s large overcoat. The giant looked questioningly at the professor. Albus demonstrated how to operate the bike, and Hagrid took off, the white motorbike letting out a jet of blue flame as he catapulted into the clouds.

Albus turned back towards the house. There were four cracks of Apparition. Albus noticed the midnight-blue robes of the approaching figures. They were Aurors or at least appeared to be. Many Dark Wizards had taken to impersonating the security forces of the Ministry lately.

'Stand aside, Dumbledore,' one of them said, raising his wand.

'Even now I could cut through the four of you like carving a cake,' said Albus softly, making no move for his wand.

The young Auror balked and lowered his wand.

'Thank you,' said Dumbledore.

An Auror at the end of the line still had his wand at hand. He had several fresh scars crisscrossing across his face. Dumbledore recognised him as Alastor Moody, a veteran Auror and one of his many acquaintances from before the war began. 

'What is my first defense, Albus?' his gruff voice called out.

'The many bins outside of your home,' Dumbledore said. 'Who took your leg, Alastor?'

'Tarquinius Nott, and it  _ hurt _ ,' said Alastor. 'They’re clean.'

The four Aurors took their hands off their wands in their thigh holsters when Alastor lowered his. 

'Two for transport,' Dumbledore said. 'Harry’s been taken to St. Mungo’s.' One of the Aurors grumbled about it not being above-board. 

'Only two?' said Alastor. 'Does that mean—'

'Voldemort’s body is gone,' Dumbledore said. 'He left his robes and wand, so I very much doubt he escaped alive. Upstairs, down the hall on the left-hand side.'

Three of the Aurors peeled off and went into the house, which Dumbledore thought was sagging quite a bit more than it had when he arrived. Hopefully, they would retrieve the Potters and their evidence before the house fell apart completely. 

'Here I was, thinking they were in Bristol all this time,' Alastor murmured.

'You understand why I could not reveal the truth?'

'Aye, I can,' said Alastor. 'Constant vigilance, after all. But how did this happen, if so few knew the truth of it all?'

'They were betrayed,' said Dumbledore. 'By Sirius or by Peter. I cannot fathom by whom precisely.'

'Pettigrew is quite literally a  _ rat _ , Albus,' said Alastor. It was true, Peter Pettigrew’s abilities to transform into a rat did have its many advantages but also belied his character.

'True enough, nevertheless Sirius may have relapsed into his old ways or defected entirely,' Dumbledore said. 'As I have said before, I cannot be certain of anything.'

Alastor grunted. The two turned towards the Aurors levitating the elder Potters underneath white shrouds, with the third holding three wands and Voldemort’s robe. 

'What shall I do with these wands, sir?' the third Auror asked Alastor.

'I’ll ensure the Potters’ wands make it to their vault,' said Dumbledore. Alastor nodded, and the Auror handed the wands over to the old professor. Albus put them next to his wand. 

'The victims are to go to St. Mungo’s per the statute,' Alastor said. 'Inform the estate. Make sure to keep mum, or I’ll have your badges. As for that,' he looked at Voldemort’s wand critically. 'Central Processing.'

The three Aurors nodded and Disapparated to their assigned locations. 

'It’s been an honor, truly,' said Dumbledore. The two shook hands.

'Is he gone?' asked Alastor quietly. 'Voldemort— is he gone for good?'

Dumbledore smiled quietly, 'No, I should think not. I hope to be proven wrong.'

'You know where to find me if you’re right.' Alastor said. Dumbledore nodded sharply and the Auror Disapparated with a small  _ pop _ . 

Dumbledore regarded the small cottage with no small amount of regret. He used the Put-Outer one final time to restore the street lamps’ light and then to turn off the lights inside the failing shell of the Potters’ cottage. 

With his work finished, Dumbledore Disapparated back to his residence at Hogwarts School, where he had taught for many years. The evening gave him much to think over, most of all what he was to do in regards to young Harry’s guardians.

-oOo-

Hours later on the first of November, Dumbledore Apparated to the reception area of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Already it had been eons since the war began, and a lifetime since the night before. 

So much had yet to be done, and Albus had not yet settled down to rest. Dumbledore strode to the desk manned by a squat fellow. The man wore cream-coloured robes with a small scarlet cross on his left pocket— the robe of a Healer.

'I am here to see young Harry Potter, by appointment,' Dumbledore said. He clasped his hands.

'Name?' The man said, not bothering to look up. Dumbledore coughed. The man’s eyes widened. 'Of course, uh... Professor Dumbledore… right away!'

Dumbledore smiled indulgently as the Healer scrambled to direct him to the Pediatric Ward. He walked past several waiting patients and visitors carrying the morning editions of the Daily Prophet.

'Excuse me,' Dumbledore paused, standing near a lanky witch outside of the Burn Ward who herself held a paper. 'Are you finished with that paper?'

The woman’s face lit up in recognition. 'Certainly, sir. Here you are.'

Dumbledore smiled once more, thanked her, and took her copy of the  _ Prophet _ . He read the headline: ‘YOU-KNOW-WHO VANQUISHED!’ and below that ‘The Boy Who Lived: The Potters’ Noble Sacrifice’. 

Satisfied, Dumbledore continued down the hallway with the paper in hand. Word had already spread about Harry’s miraculous survival. Dumbledore did not want to think about what sort of effect this would have on the Potter’s son. He was glad he sent a message to Minerva as perhaps the Muggle world would be better after all for young Harry.

The healer paused in front of the Pediatric Ward. Two Aurors, the ones from the night before, flanked the entrance. A red-eyed and fatigued Hagrid sat in a double-wide chair in the waiting area beyond. 

'Good morning, Hagrid,' Dumbledore greeted. The man managed to smile.

'Good mornin’, Professor,' he mumbled. He grabbed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and rubbed his eyes.

'Did you get any sort of rest, my boy?' asked Dumbledore. He placed the paper within his robe pocket surreptitiously. 

'No,' Hagrid sniffed. 'Wanted ter see Harry, but…' Hagrid glanced over at the Aurors, who spared him no notice.

Dumbledore nodded. 'I will check with the matron about visitors.' Hagrid smiled briefly at that. The professor turned and went to go into the ward. The walls were decorated with enchanted storks and songbirds soaring on its periwinkle background while fluffy painted clouds moved silently across the top of the wall. 

The two Aurors eyed Dumbledore carefully before allowing him to pass. The receptionist pointed toward a room, and Dumbledore thanked him. Another Healer wearing a wimple, the ward matron, strode over to him as Dumbledore entered Harry’s room. 

‘Professor Dumbledore, I am Matron Cauldswell,’ she whispered, shaking his hand. 

‘How is Mr Potter?’

'He’s sleeping,' the ward matron whispered. Harry indeed was resting, wearing a different set of clothes to the ones he had the previous night. 'Shall we step into my office?'

Dumbledore obliged her, stepping outside and into the matron’s office. Another witch was within, wearing the pinstriped robes of a Ministry worker. She introduced herself as Caroline Bingley and was a thin woman with frizzy black hair. Dumbledore recognised her faintly as one of his former students in Transfiguration thirty years prior. 

'Thank you for coming, Professor,' the matron said. 'Tea?'

Dumbledore nodded. She poured three cups of black tea from a squat clay pot. Dumbledore swirled a generous amount of sugar and a drop of cream into his cup.

'As I understand it, you are the executor of the Potter estate, Professor?' asked Bingley. 

'Yes, I am,' said Dumbledore, tapping his spoon on his cup and setting it onto the saucer. 'The task fell to me in the most remarkable of circumstances.'

Bingley smiled coyly. 'I’m sure it did. In any case, it falls to you to ensure a smooth transition for Mr. Potter to his new residence, given the circumstances.'

'What is Mr Potter’s condition?' asked Dumbledore.

'He is in perfect health,' the matron said, clutching her cup. 'You-Know-Who’s curse seemingly rebounded. Glanced off some sort of innate protection. There’s not a scratch on him or his core, well except for the scar.'

'Good,' Dumbledore took a sip of tea. 'That is good to hear. And the scar?'

'It seems your healing magic did the trick, though the scar will remain of course.' said the matron. 'It’s a very striking scar, I must say.'

'He has been cleared for an evening release,' Bingley said. She had put lemon in her tea, much to Albus’ sorrow. 'Would you care to share any plans for his future?'

'It was the wish of James Potter for his son to be raised by Sirius Black should anything happen to him,' Dumbledore recounted. Given the evening’s events, however, he had a suspicion Sirius would not be in a position to care for the boy.

Just then, the fireplace in the office lit with a roaring green fire. A note as well as a newspaper fell onto the spartan rug. Unfazed, the matron set down her cup and strode over. She paled and her expression sank into a firm severity. 

'It seems you won’t be placing Mr. Potter with Black,' the matron gasped. She threw the paper onto the table. Dumbledore glanced over.

On the cover, a photo of Sirius was under a damning headline: ‘POTTERS BETRAYED! PETTIGREW DEAD! BLACK HEIR IN CUSTODY’. 

Dumbledore was shocked, and yet Sirius had not met his gaze at all at the Potter Cottage. No matter his fate, Dumbledore couldn’t entrust Harry to a man who would no doubt be a charged murderer. 

'Well,' Bingley coughed. 'Were there any contingency plans?'

'Oh God, no!' The matron interrupted, gripping the accompanying note and was on the verge of a faint. 'The Longbottoms…'

Bingley raised an eyebrow. The matron pursed her lips. Dumbledore gave her a supporting nod.

'They have suffered the sustained use of the Cruciatus Curse,' the matron continued. 'They wanted to send them to the Curse Ward, but…'

Dumbledore understood. As one of the Unforgivable Curses, the use of the Cruciatus came with a heavy price both for the user and their victims. The Longbottoms were for all intents and purposes untreatable. Unfortunately, that was the contingency.

'Anywhere else?' Bingley asked. 'You know as well as I do that the Ministry’s foster program is  _ lacking _ , to say the least.'

Dumbledore paused, finishing his cup of tea in two uncharacteristically crude gulps. He had to make a choice and a decisive one at that. He paused, setting down his cup.

'Yes, there is a family that I have in mind,' he said carefully. 'Given the Longbottoms’... condition and Mr. Black’s arrest, I should think that Mrs. Potter’s family, the Dursleys, should be the ones to care for the boy.'

'Why wasn’t this your initial option?' asked the matron.

'They were not mentioned as potential guardians,' Dumbledore confessed.

'Would he be in danger of living with the Dursleys in any way?'

'As far as I know, no,' Dumbledore replied. 'I am worried about Voldemort’s—' here, the two women flinched. '—followers locating Mr. Potter in the magical world. The Dursleys are Muggles, after all, and not known to the Death Eaters as far as I know.'

'Well it seems a natural choice,' Bingley said.

'That may be a blessing,' said the matron. 'After all, everyone already knows Mr. Potter’s name. The Aurors have already turned away dozens of well-wishers.' The professor glanced at the veritable mountain of flowers and cards stacked in the corner of the matron’s office. 

Dumbledore smiled. 'I agree with you, Cauldswell. Harry will live at the Dursleys.'

'Very well,' said Bingley. She set her cup down and smoothed her pinstriped robes. 'I will prepare the paperwork.'

As she left, Dumbledore turned to the matron. 'Pardon, matron. There is a good friend of the Potter family outside who has thus far been refused entry. I would not want to impose, however, it would do him a world of good to check in on the boy, if at all possible. He will also be the one to conduct Mr. Potter to his residence.'

The matron nodded. 'I’ll notify the Aurors.'

Dumbledore thanked the matron for the tea and permission and went to Harry. He opened the curtains quietly. Blessedly, Harry finally was asleep after the previous night’s tragedy. Unfortunately, it was not a restful sleep by any stretch: Harry frequently tossed and turned, his face wrenched in pain. 

Dumbledore quietly left the enclosure after a moment and sat next to Hagrid. A moment later, the matron motioned Hagrid into the ward. Sparing a thankful, tearful glance to Dumbledore, Hagrid made his way into the ward to see his young friends’ son. 

-oOo-

As twilight settled into its cold calm, Dumbledore once again Apparated into a side alley of a darkened street in Little Whinging, Surrey. He wore an emerald green ensemble with black buckled boots and a gold hair tie keeping his silver beard to a manageable state, remarkably well-rested and put together given the trying hours behind him. Dumbledore cast a notice-me-not enchantment across the entire street, ensuring the residents of Privet Drive wouldn’t leave their houses. He strode to the beginning of Privet Drive where a stiffly sitting tabby cat waited on the brick wall outside of the residence. 

'I am surprised to see you still here, Professor McGonagall,' he said with faint amusement. The cat looked upwards and hopped off the wall, transforming into a severe woman in a black robe and pointed hat. She scooped up a map and placed it within her robe pockets.

'I was waiting for you, Professor Dumbledore,' she said, smoothing out her robes. 'Are the rumours true?'

'Yes, the rumours are true, both the good and the bad.'

'How? How did he survive, Albus?' McGonagall asked.

'I haven’t the faintest idea,' said Dumbledore with a faint hint of amusement. 

McGonagall pursed her lips, closed her eyes, and sighed. 'Is Harry to live here, then?'

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, noting her tone. 'Yes, I believe it is best that Harry grows up outside of our world for a time, at least until he is ready to understand why he is famous.'

She frowned. 'I don’t recall Lily ever mentioning if she reconciled her differences with Petunia.'

'There is no alternative, Minerva,' Dumbledore said sadly. He had not anticipated the Dursleys being so dissimilar to Lily. 'They are his legal guardians now.'

McGonagall nodded. 'Where is Harry?'

'He will be along shortly,' Dumbledore said, checking his pocket watch. 'All that is left to do is to reinforce the defensive measures Lily had requested be on her sister’s residence. As well as to apprise them of the situation.’

‘What if… well, what if the bad blood remains between Petunia and her sister?’ asked Minerva.

‘We can’t know that,’ Dumbledore said firmly. ‘I have no doubt if Lily can forgive others in her past that she can forgive blood. In any case, we cannot interfere.’

'You led an underground resistance against You-Know-Who for ten years.' McGonagall shook her head in exasperation. 'Surely you can keep an eye on them?’

‘I cannot. I have no reason to,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Any sort of interference would put Harry into a precarious situation in our world.

He put a hand on Minerva’s shoulder, 'I do sympathise with you, Minerva. However, I cannot in good conscience break the law once more when so many have already tolerated too much of that on my account.'

Minerva frowned but said nothing more. 

The telltale roar of Hagrid’s motorbike blew as it descended from the cloudline. Hagrid landed smoothly on the street and turned off the engine. The giant man took off his aviator goggles and took notice of the two professors. He quickly and effortlessly picked up Harry’s basket, and the professors moved to join Hagrid near the terraced residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. 

'Is he alright?' said Minerva softly.

'Oh aye, perfectly.' Hagrid answered. 'Fell asleep ‘soon as we flew over Byfleet. The Matron also sent over his documents.'

Dumbledore smiled. Minerva took the basket from Hagrid and smiled sadly, glancing at Harry’s scar. Hagrid handed Dumbledore a thick brown envelope containing Harry’s records from St. Mungo’s and the Ministry. 

‘Thank you Hagrid,’ said Dumbledore, patting him on the shoulder. Hagrid sniffed and blew into his handkerchief, but made to leave nonetheless. With a flick of a switch, Hagrid and the motorbike faded from view under an invisibility charm. 

‘Are you ready?’ Minerva asked. 

Dumbledore nodded. He knocked on the door. Silverware inside settled against a wooden table. There was a shuffling of feet. A man with a very large blonde mustache opened the door.

‘We’re not interested in a pamphlet,’ the man said. ‘Thank you—'

‘Mr Dursley, I presume?’ Dumbledore asked. The man nodded. ‘We’re not pamphleteers, Mr Dursley. We bring ill news from your sister in law’s world.’

Mr Dursley looked around the street and waved them in. ‘Petunia. Bad news.’

The two warlocks stepped inside, Minerva holding Harry’s basket. There was another clatter, and Petunia Dursley joined her husband, her black hair and thin features a sharp contrast to her sister Lily. She peered around Albus and saw Minerva carrying the basket. Her bony hands began to shake. She led them to the sitting room. Minerva gently levitated Harry and transfigured the basket into a pram. 

Mr Dursley blinked. ‘So… this is…’ 

‘Harry,’ Minerva said. Mr Dursley nodded. Minerva recast a silencing charm over Harry’s pram to ensure he remained asleep.

‘How did it happen?’ asked Petunia. She had caved in on herself, much as Sirius had a few hours before. 

‘Voldemort,’ said Albus. He told her the entire story, of how her sister remained in hiding, her location betrayed by a spy, and the double-murder of the Potters. When he had finished, Mr Dursley had poured himself a large brandy. 

Petunia took the horror in her stride. She stood, paced around the room, and sat back down.

‘Do you have his documentation?’ she asked. 

‘We have both the magical and Muggle documentation,’ said Albus, ‘Mrs. Bingley will assist with the guardianship requirements. I am positive that there will not be a problem on our end.’

‘This… this fellow, he’s gone then?’ asked Mr Dursley. 

‘Yes, but his followers remain at large,’ Albus said. ‘With your permission, I would cast several protective enchantments around your residence to ensure the safety of your family and Harry.’

Petunia nodded. ‘Do it.’

Albus nodded, taking that as their cue to leave. He and Minerva looked fondly down at Harry and said a short farewell to the Dursleys. 

'Good luck, Harry Potter. Until we meet again,' Dumbledore said softly. 

‘I should also mention,’ Minerva said to Mr Dursley, ‘Harry might, after the age of seven, be the cause of odd happenings. This is accidental magic and is by and large a harmless event.’

‘I remember,’ Petunia said stiffly. 

Minerva nodded and transfigured the pram back into the floating basket, which landed gently onto the Dursley’s couch. She left without another word. 

‘I would also ask that, at least until that time or indeed until he turns eleven, you do not consider telling him about our world. It would not do well for Mr Potter, I should think.’

Vernon nodded. ‘We can do that.’

Albus inclined his head and joined Minerva on the landing. They quietly shut the door behind them. 

Albus glanced up at the residence. He hoped for Harry’s sake that he had made the right decision. He firmly believed that despite Minerva’s well-founded and trustworthy opinion, this was the only way forward. The Dursleys had been apprised of the situation and had taken Harry on. 

With that Albus brandished his wand and muttered several incantations. 

Several shimmering layers of magical energy washed over the residence— the most powerful protective charms that he dares to place on a Muggle residence. The leylines of the protective charms and enchantments crisscrossed in the inky darkness before settling and disappearing entirely. Satisfied with his work, Dumbledore spared a last glance at the house before stepping into the street with Minerva.

‘Is your opinion much improved?’ Albus asked Minerva. He dismantled the Notice-me-not enchantment around the street.

Minerva sniffed. ‘It remains to be seen.’

‘I will see you soon,’ Albus said. She turned on her heel and Disapparated with a sharp crack. 

Albus glanced back at the house then turned on his heel. With a small  _ pop _ , he left Privet Drive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Albus is from Barristan Selmy in "The Pointy End" S1 Ep. 8 of Game of Thrones, HBO & GRR Martin


	2. A Very Normal Family

Ten years later, Harry Potter was woken up from a peaceful dream by a rapid knock on his bedroom door. He blinked, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. 

'Get up!' yelled his Aunt Petunia, who huffed and hit the door again before going into the kitchen. 

He stepped out in his Doctor Duck pajamas, his glasses askew. Doctor Duck was one of his favorite television programmes. He remembered vaguely Aunt Petunia asking him to cook breakfast that morning, but he couldn’t remember why off the top of his head. He looked down the hallway and saw that the sun had barely risen. Aunt Petunia must have wanted him to cook early. 

Cooking breakfast early meant the day ahead was important for the family, beyond something as ordinary as the first day of the last week of school. Harry couldn’t remember what important day it was until he stepped into the Dursley’s immaculate kitchen and saw Petunia laying out a pile of presents. It hit him like a ton of bricks. It was Dudley’s eleventh birthday. Harry found the fridge calendar and saw that indeed today was circled with a stick-figure depiction of his cousin Dudley surrounded by hearts. It made Harry sick. 

‘Morning Aunt Petunia,’ Harry said. ‘What will he be having?’

‘Eggs and bacon, per usual,’ she said, clutching her mug of instant coffee. ‘I made the cake last night.’ Harry had noticed Aunt Petunia always liked her instant coffee ground to where the tiny chunks would be even finer than cocoa powder.

‘Cake for breakfast too?’ asked Harry mildly. 

‘Yes,’ she replied. 'I want everything perfect on Duddykin’s perfect morning.'

Harry nodded. He knew not to laugh at Petunia’s pet names for Dudley, even though they were quite funny. He also didn’t have to cook breakfast regularly, just on occasion. Everyone else did. Well, everyone except Dudley. 

Life was alright at the Dursleys, Harry supposed. He helped out with chores, helped with cooking. It wasn’t like he was a domestic by any stretch, and they did allow him to go to his friends’ houses and such. Church however, was non-negotiable. Harry remembered last year that Uncle Vernon had reprimanded Dudley for wanting to go to the zoo during church on his last birthday. 

Harry went into the fridge to take out the large slabs of bacon and the carton of brown-shelled eggs that his Aunt Petunia had shopped for the day before. It was what Dudley wanted for his birthday breakfast: cake, eggs, and bacon. Dudley really was a nightmare and a bully. Harry didn’t want to be around him all day. At school, he could have more time to himself. Time he wouldn’t have when Friday afternoon rolled around and school would have ended. 

However school came with its own problems. Dudley had made it his mission to make sure Harry was as afraid of him as possible. Harry felt he had to oblige Dudley, after all it might make Dudley not hit him. It hadn’t worked before, and the Dursleys had been little help, but if he kept trying and really did his best then maybe Dudley would stop. Harry began his task by quickly drinking a glass of apple juice. ‘We’re going to dinner with the Polkisses and the Rigbys,’ Aunt Petunia informed him. Harry knew already that he wasn’t invited. Piers Polkiss and Dennis Rigby were members of Dudley’s gang. 

With a great boarish yawn, Uncle Vernon entered the room with a muttered greeting to them both. Harry washed his hands after putting the bacon on the cooker. Uncle Vernon was alright, and generally followed Aunt Petunia’s lead in most everything household related, while she voted the way he wished at the general election. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. 

Harry continued to work silently and diligently.

‘Marge is ill again,’ Vernon said. ‘Called me when you went quilting.’

‘Oh how horrible,’ she replied. Harry didn’t mind. Aunt Marge was probably one of the worst people imaginable apart from Dudley. 

A pop of grease landed on Harry’s hand. He jerked back and looked up just in time to see his cousin enter the kitchen. Harry quickly took the bacon off the stove, ran off the extra grease into a ramekin, and swirled in the half-dozen eggs into perhaps the biggest omelette the world had ever seen. Unfortunately, Dudley didn’t like omelettes, so Harry hacked it up into scrambled eggs. So sad. 

Dudley, who was a miniature, non-mustachioed version of Uncle Vernon, stomped over to his spot at the table flanked by two walls of presents. His beady eyes counted each box. He stopped to look menacingly at Harry. Harry paid him no mind, as he was safe around his aunt and uncle. 

Aunt Petunia had already put out silverware and such, so Harry placed the eggs and bacon on serving plates, taking out the cake as well. He’d paid no attention to the conversation, as it had turned to the subject of Dudley only having thirty-seven presents rather than last year’s thirty-eight. 

While Dudley cried crocodile tears, his mother and father attempted to placate him before Dudley blew his top completely. Harry sat next to Uncle Vernon and began to eat Dudley’s breakfast. He took out a knife as well and carved two big pieces, placing one on a plate for Dudley and putting the other on his own. 

‘That’s not fair!’ Dudley exclaimed. ‘I’m supposed to have the first piece.’

‘I did cut the first piece for you,’ Harry said with a smile. ‘It’s not my fault you’re not eating it.’

‘Boys,’ Vernon chided. ‘Harry, don’t provoke him.’

Harry ate a little of his cake, which got Dudley even more enraged. The meal went much the same until Harry left for the toilet. 

Harry smiled at the mirror, looking at his jet black hair that stuck up every which way and his green eyes, which a girl had once described as “cute”. Harry knew Aunt Petunia hated his hair and really, really wanted it to change. It never did however. After a quick shower, he changed into his uniform and went back to his room for his pack and to continue reading  _ A Wrinkle in Time _ . It was a very strange book. 

A little while later, he heard Aunt Petunia whistle from outside. 

'Time for school, Harry!' a voice called from Harry’s memory, or at least he thought it might have. As Petunia coaxed Dudley to the car, Harry paused. He could feel a pair of arms wrap around him in a warm embrace, though he knew nothing was there at all. It was a comfort, though a small one. One he certainly couldn’t explain- not to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia or anyone. He knew if he told anyone about the phantom comforts he had felt throughout his time within Number Four, that he would be thrown into a mental hospital with the key forgotten. For some reason though, Harry didn’t give up hope that things would improve.

Harry sat in the back, while Dudley rode next to Aunt Petunia. Dudley looked back with a cruel gleam in his eyes, but did nothing immediately. Harry buckled in and watched Privet Drive disappear as Petunia drove toward St Grogory’s Preparatory, Harry and Dudley’s school. 

Harry wondered vaguely what he would be doing on the day he finally left Privet Drive for good. He couldn’t really imagine a life any different from the one he had but sometimes he remembered flashes of his parents, his  _ real  _ family. He didn’t know what they were like, not really.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had said a long time ago that they died in a car crash. It’s how Harry got the ugly scar on his forehead that Petunia refused to let Harry show off in public. When Harry tried to imagine a life away from the Dursleys, truthfully he saw nothing at all. He didn’t know. He knew he didn’t want to do whatever Dudley ended up doing. 

What he did know was that he dreaded the end of school coming at the end of the week. Summer was always the worst for him, when Dudley’s attention was wholly on him and his friends went abroad. 

After the last class of the day, Harry loosened his tie and looked around carefully. He didn’t see his cousin. Harry knew though that Dudley could be around any corner waiting to pounce on Harry like a tiger. Dudley did this often, after all. He waited outside on a bench for his Aunt Petunia’s van. 

The sun was shining overhead, lighting up St Grogory’s glass panels to an astounding brightness. There was a cool breeze also, which Harry thought was pleasant. Harry liked to be outdoors. He couldn’t usually bring friends over to his house on account of Dudley, but one of his recent trips with a friend was to Kew Gardens and Harry had liked that a lot. Especially the flowers. 

_ Maybe I could be a gardener _ , Harry thought idly. 

Harry watched some of his yearmates throwing around discs. None of them were his friends: they had gone home already. He recognized a few from PE, but would rather not remember it. He shared that class with Dudley after all. He didn’t understand why Dudley was so mean to him, or why his aunt and uncle put up with both him and Dudley. 

A snake slithered from under the bench, startling Harry. It was a beautiful thing, Harry thought. Harry wasn’t particularly afraid of snakes because he knew Dudley was. Harry didn’t want to be as afraid as Dudley. He didn’t want to be anything like Dudley.

'Hi,' said Harry. The snake looked up at him quizzically, as if it didn’t expect him to talk to it. Harry lifted his hand. The snake became cautious, lowering its head back down. Harry thought it was preparing to dart off again. 

'Not a pet, then?' Harry asked rhetorically. It bobbed its head. It seemed to be able to understand him. What a neat trick. 'Would you like something to eat?' Another head bob.

Harry put down his hand and dug through his bag. Surely Dudley left him some of his lunch. He pulled out the corner of a sandwich and folded a piece of ham. The snake ate it graciously. Harry thought it was a nice looking snake, with a dappled brown body and a walnut sized head. 

The snake flicked out its tongue at him.

'You’re welcome,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve bet you’ve seen a lot, being a snake and all.' 

The snake didn’t really know how to respond to that.

Harry was pushed off of the bench. The snake slithered away, unseen by Dudley or his gang. There was a chorus of laughter. Harry began to tremble. It seems there wasn’t any good will from his breakfast. 

'Found you, Potter!' Dudley crowed. 

Harry looked back to see the birthday boy himself and his two mates. He wasn’t afraid of his mates so much as he was of Dudley. Piers looked like a wet bird with a stringy brown wig while Dennis Rigby looked more like one of the Tweedles from Alice in Wonderland. Dudley, well, looked like Uncle Vernon. 

Harry picked himself up, finding his glasses in the grass. 

‘Really, you three need to find a better hobby,’ Harry said while putting on his glasses. ‘I’m too fast for any of you now.’

‘Really?’ Dudley sneered. Harry thought that that was the wrong thing to say. ‘Get him!’

The three of them tried to grab Harry’s pack or shirt, intent on beating him senseless. Harry stepped backwards, watching them lurch forward. Harry blinked. He found himself now on the rooftop looking down at Dudley’s gang. 

His cousin and friends looked startled and began to argue with one another. Dudley and his friends dropped their packs and rushed back inside. Having done this trick once before, Harry used a drainpipe to enter one of the school’s courtyards, out of sight from his cousin who would surely find him if he stayed in one place. 

Harry took off running, knowing what would happen should he be caught. He usually didn’t run away anymore, but in this situation Harry thought Dudley just wanted to waste some time while they both waited for Aunt Petunia. 

His heart was pounding. His trainers skidded across the linoleum. He looked behind him and saw no one had followed him. Slowing down to catch his breath, he noticed that he was by the canteen. Harry tried to open the door, but it was locked. It was stupid to even think about hiding in there, since it was a wide open space. He needed to get to the library. 

'Dudley! Over here!' Piers shouted. Harry’s head whipped up and all caution was thrown out of the window when he spotted Piers at the end of the hall. Harry took off once more.

Dennis was waiting at the end of the hallway, his Tweedle face lit up in a grin. ‘Too fast for you, Potter?’ Harry ducked under Dennis’ stumpy arms and pushed the boy. 

Dennis fell onto his face like Harry had minutes before outside. ‘I think so,’ said Harry. 

He spun out of Piers’ grasp trying to grab him from another corridor. Piers fell into a large bin outside of a classroom, his legs flailing as he tried to get out. ‘Dudley, Dennis, get me out!’

Harry continued to run, but he tripped over something. 

Dudley had hidden himself and kicked out his leg at just the right moment. Harry scrambled to his feet before Dudley could get him. 

‘You’ve never been fast enough, Potter,’ Dudley spat. He raised his foot to kick Harry. 

Harry blinked. He was suddenly in the school courtyard again. 

Harry adjusted his tie. ‘Seems I am, Dudders.’ He rattled out a chuckle. ‘Seems I am.’

Harry’s teleportation seemed to happen more than it used to. He didn’t really know why. It wasn’t dangerous though, so he guessed it was alright. Harry opened the doors as softly as he could and took off down another hallway. 

Harry walked around, unconcerned about Dudley or his mismatched friends. Harry could tell someone about them, yet it always got up to Mr Collins the headmaster and never further. Nothing ever seemed to stick on Dudley or his two friends. 

Harry paused and looked through an intersection, seeing Dennis at the end of the hallway. He hadn’t noticed Harry yet. Harry quietly continued down the corridor towards the end, using his gift for being unseen by Dudley at all times to good use. He opened the door to the school library. 

Unlike the rest of the school, the library was really old looking. It hadn’t been included in the renovation plan, which Uncle Vernon had grumbled about for months on end about a few years ago. Not the library- the renovations. It cost too much money apparently. The library remained neglected. The room was filled with mismatched books and the floors were cracked and old. 

Harry looked around carefully. He was prepared if Piers or Dudley popped out of the stacks but doubted that they would. 

'Potter!' the librarian, Ms. Valois shouted. Harry flinched. 

‘I- I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, but-’

Ms. Valois looked at him with concern over her eyeglasses. ‘Do you need me to call someone?’ she asked. 

‘No, it’s just my cousin again,’ said Harry. She shook her head.

‘Come on in, Potter,’ she said.

'Thank you, Ms Valois,' said Harry. 

Ms Valois was nice enough to let Harry stay after-hours, as he had done a few times in the past. She looked at Harry carefully before he ducked out of sight. Harry put down his pack and slumped behind one of the shelves in one of the sections hidden from the door. Harry looked around, hearing only Ms Valois punching in numbers on her phone. 

'Hello, Mr Collins,' said Ms. Valois. 'I’m afraid it’s Potter again. It seems your chat with Mrs Dursley last week hasn’t solved anything…'

Oh God, Harry thought. His heart sank. She’s calling Mr Collins, the headmaster. Dudley was going to be beyond furious and probably not even stop his rampage at home, where Harry was usually safe. He shouldn’t have stopped in the library. 

He took a calming breath. He would deal with the consequences later. Now, he had time to pass until Aunt Petunia arrived, and could pass it in relative safety. Dudley, after all, never came into the library for anything. 

Harry looked around, trying to find a different book from last week’s. His gaze settled on  _ 101 Magic Coin Tricks to Dazzle Your Mates _ , a book that Harry had not read yet. He pulled the book off the shelf and placed it across his knobbly knees. 

The book was older, but looked well-loved. Harry really liked the addition of pictures, which made the instructions a lot easier to follow. He flipped through the book, seeing that indeed there were one hundred and one coin tricks: ones that levitated, ones that disappeared, ones that turned into handkerchiefs. 

As he read through the thin book, Harry thought that it would be a wonderful idea to try out one of the tricks within, to see if he was good at it. Hopefully Ms. Valois wouldn’t tell his Aunt Petunia. She got really cross whenever Harry mentioned magic. She didn’t even like Dudley watching  _ The Great Humberto _ on the telly. 

Yet if he could avoid Dudley, then maybe he could learn something practical as well. Maybe he could make a career as a stage magician once he grew up and have a garden in his spare time. He definitely didn’t want to be a secretary or a manager for a drill company like his aunt and uncle, and certainly didn’t want to train dogs like his Aunt Marge. He also knew Dudley would never go to one of his shows, which made the dream a little sweeter, in Harry’s opinion.

He looked back to the book and suddenly remembered he didn’t  _ have  _ a coin. Harry felt around his hiding place and found a dirty 50-pence piece. He wiped off the grime with his sleeve and thought that that would have to do. Harry looked down and flipped to the coin tricks and found a simple trick to begin with. 

Harry practised the trick for some time. Confident Dennis and Piers’ mothers had gotten them already, Harry came out of his hiding space and practised at the table with the book in hand. He turned back to the book, checking the diagram again before flicking his wrist, making the coin ‘disappear’ into his sleeve. He shook his arm, waiting for the coin to roll out. It wasn’t there. Ms. Valois by this point had ended the conversation with the headmaster. 

'What have you got there, Potter?' she asked.

'It’s a book of magic tricks, Ms. Valois.' Harry answered. 

'You seem to be very good at them.'

Harry beamed. ‘Thanks.’ Ms. Valois turned to look at her monitor.

Harry searched around his seat and looked frantically for the coin. He heard a clatter on the table. Harry looked up and saw the coin was on the table. Harry, though confused, thought nothing of it. 

Harry flipped further into the book. He saw another trick that supposedly levitated the coin. For it, he needed a string. Harry looked around and settled on pulling out a string from his sock. He tied one end of the string around the coin, the other on his middle finger and began ‘levitating’ the coin. As Harry lifted his hand, the coin rose with it. 

'What a dumb trick,' Harry thought. He wiggled his other hand and raised the stringed hand. The weak string snapped. Harry was dumbfounded to see that the coin was still levitating and following his hand.

'My word!' gasped Ms. Valois. 'How are you doing that, Potter?'

'I don’t-' Harry started. The library door opened. 

Aunt Petunia was looking at him with a vaguely disappointed expression. She had seen the coin. Harry paled. Dudley was also there with his piggish smile. He had not seen the coin. 

'There you are, Harry,' Petunia said. 

'We’ve been looking all over for you,' Dudley said, trying not to giggle. Harry thought Dudley enjoyed himself too much. 

'Thank you for taking care of Harry,' Aunt Petunia said.

'Oh he was perfectly pleasant, Mrs Dursley,' said Ms. Valois.

‘I’m sure,’ Aunt Petunia said. 'Time to go, Harry.'

Harry got up from his chair dutifully. The coin clattered onto the table and Harry left it and the book behind. He picked up his pack and followed Dudley and Petunia out of the door. He knew he was in big trouble now. Harry continued into the hallway and was tripped by Dudley. Aunt Petunia’s gaze whipped back to Harry on the floor. Dudley feigned innocence. 

‘Come on, Harry,’ she said. Harry said nothing about Dudley’s behaviour. He supposed Mr Collins would get around to it eventually. 

He thought it was curious how Aunt Petunia always seemed even more flustered and angry than usual when Harry did something unexplainable, like turn his math teacher’s wig blue or levitating a coin. He paused. Did he have magic? 

Was that the freakish thing about him that Dudley hated, that his Aunt got particularly edgy about? It all suddenly made sense. All these weird happenings- teleporting around the school, shrinking Dudley’s horrid old jumper to the size of a hand puppet- he had magic! 

Harry schooled his features. Inside though, he was still giddy. 

He was convinced he had magic.

His happiness soured. The Dursleys wouldn’t want a stage magician, much less a real magician in their house. Magicians weren’t successful. He supposed he could buy a house nearby. What sort of things could a real magician do?

'What did this mean?' he thought. 'Is there some sort of exam or a comprehensive I could go to? Do they  _ have  _ those in Surrey?'

Harry didn’t really know and didn’t know how to find out. As he hopped into the back once more, putting his pack next to him, he wondered if he could levitate anything else. He quietly glanced behind him and saw Aunt Petunia looking straight at him.

‘We’ll talk later, alright?’ she said. Harry nodded.

Dudley turned around in his seat. His beady eyes watched Harry like a hawk, the one time he actually looked like Aunt Petunia, throughout the drive. Harry supposed his eagerness had been detected by Dudley. He always knew about everything Harry did and seemingly thought, even if Harry didn’t want him to. Instead of levitating anything, Harry watched the school fade out of view. 

Summer was all the closer. 

Harry continued to watch, unblinking, throughout the drive. The only time Aunt Petunia stopped for anything was at the traffic lights, stop signs, and at the keycard gate to Little Whinging. Usually, she stopped to get Dudley a cheeseburger before dinner. 

'Are we not going to Constable Cheese?' Dudley asked.

'We’re already home, Duddy dearest,' said Aunt Petunia. 

Dudley moaned. 'Oh but Mu-um! I really wanted to play on my Game Gear and now we’re home and-'

'Dudley,  _ enough _ ,' said Aunt Petunia. 

Harry was shocked. Aunt Petunia always calmed Dudley down a bit gentler than she had been lately. Something Harry did must have really bothered her. It certainly wasn’t about Dudley- Mr Collins didn’t work that fast. 

Harry was seen doing one of his ‘accidents’. Ms. Valois had seen his magic first-hand. Maybe that was it. Dudley began to cry his fakest tears, but Petunia was seemingly unfazed. Dudley even fell out of the car, drubbing his fists against the pavement. Petunia pursed her lips as he screamed at her. 

'Dudley, go inside,' she ordered. Dudley gaped at her. 'And stop  _ gaping! _ '

Dudley did so, grumbling to himself. Harry was preparing to open his door, but Aunt Petunia beat him to it. Harry scrambled out and began to walk to the house. Aunt Petunia’s slight grip on his shoulder stopped him. 

‘Can we talk now?’ asked Aunt Petunia. Harry nodded.

‘I was thinking you would want to think about having a going-away party,’ said Aunt Petunia neutrally. 

‘Why?’ Harry asked. ‘Are we moving?’ He didn’t really want to move.

‘No, you’re going to a different school, I suspect.’

‘What? But Stonewall is alright, I suppose,’ Harry said. Stonewall High’s  _ stunning  _ reputation did put off most people. Dudley was going to Smeltings, Vernon’s old school. ‘I’m sorry about the coin, I just-’

‘You’re going to get a letter from your mother’s school,’ Petunia said. ‘It’s a boarding school in Scotland.’

‘Why haven’t I heard about this before?’ asked Harry. 

Aunt Petunia sighed. ‘As I said, you’ll get a letter. It’s a school that will help with your… outbursts.’

Harry was confused. His mother had magic too? Aunt Petunia glanced around as if she was seeing if the neighbors had been watching. 

‘And Harry, don’t tell Dudley,’ she said. Harry nodded that he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to tell Dudley anything. 

She and Harry went back into the house. 

Harry went into his room. He knew he wouldn’t be going with the Dursleys to dinner. He didn’t mind as it would give Harry enough time to sort out what exactly Aunt Petunia had said.

‘When in doubt,’ Harry thought, ‘write it out.’

Harry took out a scrap of paper and one of the many pencils at the bottom of his pack and began to write out what he had learned so far. He strongly believed now that he had actual magic which thrilled him to no end. Petunia had seen Harry doing magic and she didn’t like it. She said that his mum was also at a school for magic.

'What does it mean?' Harry murmured. Clearly, his mum must have also done magic or something equally not-normal. Maybe she was a dragonrider or a travelling opera singer. He couldn’t remember if his mum sang or not. It was a comforting thought nonetheless. 

If he and his mum had magic, then maybe there were more magic-people. Was he supposed to find them, or were they going to come to him? Harry had, once again, no idea. He hoped there was more to magic besides lifting coins and teleporting. 

Well, if only Harry could learn how to control exactly  _ when  _ to teleport, he supposed that would be alright. He didn’t think anything else that he managed to do was particularly useful. If there was a place to learn magic full of people like him where his parents also went, maybe there were people who remembered them. 

Harry was excited. He could learn how to control his magic and learn about his parents. He couldn’t wait for his letter to arrive. 

At the end of the last week of school, Harry jumped out of his bedroom and rushed down the stairs as he had every morning. He waited at the bottom step, wiping the crust out of his eyes and looked outside. It was light outside, so Dudley and Petunia were already out shopping. Harry heard the post flap open and rushed down. He found on the top of the small pile of bills a letter addressed to him in curious emerald green ink and heavy parchment. It read:

Mr. Harry James Potter

The Second Bedroom

Number Four, Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

‘YES!” Harry yelled. He whooped and twirled around and ran back up the stairs to read it by himself. 

‘What’s all this noise?’ yelled Uncle Vernon from the kitchen.

‘Sorry, Uncle Vernon!’ said Harry. ‘Just, er, stubbed my toe. I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Did you get the post?’ called back Uncle Vernon.

‘Yes, Uncle Vernon,’ said Harry. He placed the bills on the table and walked out. 

‘Woah, woah, woah, wait a moment there,’ Uncle Vernon said. ‘Is it… you know?’

‘Yes, finally!’ said Harry. Vernon winced. ‘Sorry.’

‘Petunia and Dudley have gone off to London. Shopping or something.’ Vernon said. ‘Go on and read it. Let me tell her about it though, alright?’

‘When will they be back?’ Harry asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Vernon said dismissively. ‘Go on.’

Harry grinned and went back up the stairs, grabbing the letter as he went. He flopped onto his bed, which was proudly displaying Doctor Duck colours, and looked at the envelope. It was really heavy and made of some sort of leathery parchment paper. Harry flipped it over. 

On the fold, the letter had been stamped with purple wax, which he thought was a nice touch by the person who made it. He carefully opened the letter so that the seal remained intact. He read it with gusto.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

_ Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  _

_ (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)  _

Dear Mr Potter, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment as well as a copy of the school rulebook for your reference. 

Term begins on 1 September. We await your reply by no later than 1 August. To reply, please burn this letter after reading. 

A representative will arrive shortly after you reply to the offer to your location and provide further explanation and details on financial assistance, if necessary. For access to this service, please say ‘Hopscotch’ while replying to this letter. 

Yours sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall 

Deputy Headmistress

‘No way,’ Harry thought. ‘It really  _ is  _ real.’

He looked inside the envelope and found a small book. As he took it out, the book grew into the size of a dictionary. He caught it quickly before it slammed onto the floor. This wasn’t a prank letter.No, this was real. This was magic. Harry may have bad eyesight, but he definitely couldn’t hallucinate a book growing before his very eyes. He read the letter again and picked up the second page. 

It was a shopping list. He had no idea where he’d find half of these things, much less pay for them. There were just so  _ many  _ things Harry had to get. Books and wands and things, as well as a cauldron. Yet if Uncle Vernon made sure that Dudley, who hated all things academic, had the best in terms of schoolbags and tutors. Harry was sure they wouldn’t let  _ him  _ go without. 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

**UNIFORM**

First-year students will require: 

One to three sets of Hogwarts robes (standard)

One to two long-sleeved button-down shirts (white)

One to two Hogwarts cardigan or zip jumpers (your choice; standard)

One to two pairs of trousers or skirts (black)

One to two Hogwarts neckties (standard)

One pair of closed-toed shoes (black)

One belt (black)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) 

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags. Work clothes are recommended.

**SET BOOKS**

All students should have a copy of each of the following: 

_ A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration _ by Emeric Switch

_ A History of Magic _ by Bathilda Bagshot

_ Magical Drafts and Potions _ by Arsenius Jigger

_ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _ by Phyllida Spore

_ The Warlock’s Astronomical Guide _ by Altair Starman

_ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _ by Quentin Trimble

_ The Standard Book of Spells _ (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

**OPTIONAL BOOKS**

All Muggle-raised (non-Magical) students will be automatically enrolled in the  _ Introduction to Wizardry _ course. Copies of the additional books will be provided, though are limited. It is advised that you purchase these books, and they are all priced at 6 Galleons, 10 Sickles at Flourish and Blotts, around 20 GBP.

_ A Primer in British Wizarding Law and the Statute of Secrecy _ by Hector Gamp, Lord Gamp

_ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century _ by Jorgan Brightspark

_ Minima: An Introduction to Latin _ by Corvinus Biggleton

_ Quidditch Through the Ages _ by Kennilworthy Whisp

_ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ by Beedle the Bard (English Version)

**OTHER EQUIPMENT**

1 backpack, satchel, or rucksack

1 set brass scales

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials and stand

1 pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 

1 sextant

1 standard calligraphy set (quill feathers, pen knife, parchment, bottles of ink)

1 standard potions kit

1 standard-sized trunk

1 wand

Students may also bring a small non-magical pet as well, such as an owl, cat, or toad.

_ Parents are reminded that First Years are not allowed their own broomsticks! _

‘I really don’t know where to get any of this,’ Harry muttered. He supposed he’d have to ask Aunt Petunia when she got home. He set aside the letter and waited. He didn’t even pick up  _ A Wrinkle in Time _ . 

After a little while, Harry heard the van pull into the garage. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were home at last. He helped put in the shopping and waited for Dudley to go upstairs. As he was putting away the jars of jam Petunia had bought, he overheard his aunt and uncle talking. 

‘He got the letter, dear,’ Uncle Vernon murmured. 

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips. ‘I see.’

‘So, one of us-’

‘No. The school will take him.’

‘Take me?’ Harry thought. He nearly dropped the jar in his hand.

Were the Dursleys trying to get rid of him? He didn’t do anything wrong. They had never said anything. Harry walked quickly up the stairs and closed the door to his room. After a time, he heard his Aunt Petunia come up the stairs and close the door to her room. 

Through the walls, he could hear his aunt crying. Harry didn’t know why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize is lifted from Chapter Two and Three of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.  
> Please leave some feedback. It really helps me out!


	3. The Meeting of the Minds

One of Minerva McGonagall’s duties at Hogwarts as Deputy Headmistress was to send acceptance letters. It had largely been automated under Headmaster Dumbledore, but it would still take a good chunk of time to review and sign each one. The enchantments were finicky on the many quills that danced around parchments. It had taken all night. Since it wasn’t a perfect system, she had to constantly check each quill to ensure they maintained consistent handwriting. 

At last, the faculty had also agreed on a randomisation scheme for Muggleborn advising. It had only taken them a month. She had been very pleased with her charges so far, and anticipated receiving a reply from the son of one of her favourite students, Harry Potter.

She should’ve been more excited, but she just felt exhausted from dealing with the professors and with finicky quills. She’d hardly slept.

When she finally summoned the energy to get ready for the day, she spared a glance at her planner. Apparently, Dumbledore had scheduled an impromptu staff meeting in the wee morning hours. Minerva checked the clock on her fireplace’s mantelpiece. It was five past eight, and the meeting began at fifteen past eight. If she didn’t get a move on, she would be late. 

Minerva McGonagall was  _ never  _ late. She wasn’t about to start now. 

She quickly reheated the pot of tea on her desk with a tap of her wand. She covered her earthenware mug with a wool tartan sleeve and poured a cup. She left her office with tea and carpet bag, notes and teapot within, in hand. Every faculty meeting was an ordeal: she knew she’d need more tea than a single cup. 

Minerva went around the corner and stopped in front of a portrait depicting Merwyn the Malicious. Like most of the paintings in Hogwarts, Merwyn spoke and moved from frame to frame. Fortunately, he was still within his frame and appeared quite disgusted to see Minerva so early. 

They did not have a good relationship, as Merwyn considered it shameful for a woman to be teaching the proud subject of Transfiguration. She had hastened to point out that Rowena Ravenclaw initially taught Transfiguration at Hogwarts, which began the ideological spat between the two. Nevertheless, Minerva knew that this portrait guarded a passageway that she was intent on using to reach the 7th floor post-haste.

‘The Darkest Art,’ she said to the portrait. 

The portrait sighed and waved his hand. Merwyn the Malicious’ frame swung as if on a hinge, revealing a hidden passageway that curled up and out of sight. Minerva walked through the portrait hole and lit her wand tip with a quick spell. 

When she emerged moments later, she was on the opposite side of Hogwarts Castle in a corridor on the 7th floor. Minerva walked around the corner, finding her favourite colleagues Filius and Pomona walking by to the same meeting. The two in any other circumstances would’ve made an odd couple of companions, but this was Hogwarts; an educational madhouse if there ever was one. 

‘Minerva!’ Pomona Sprout greeted, waving and holding an earthenware mug in the other hand. Pomona’s grey robes were already dirty. As she taught the dirt-oriented Herbology and wrangled magic plants for a living, it was only natural. Endearing even. The two had known each other since their Hogwarts days. 

‘Good morning, Filius and Pomona,’ Minerva greeted. She joined them and clinked mugs with Sprout, taking a dainty sip compared to Pomona’s long slurp. They passed by a portrait of a wizard teaching trolls ballet. 

‘Did you sleep well, Minerva?’ asked Filius. The much shorter man taught Charms and at one time Minerva as a Head Girl sent him to detention for duelling (rather spectacularly even for his age) against a third year who had insulted Flitwick’s height.

‘No, not a wink,’ said Minerva. ‘I’ll tell you that I’ve been assigned to advise Harry Potter.’

‘Oh but that’s so wonderful!’ squeaked Filius. ‘Both for you  _ and  _ for Mr. Potter!’ 

‘Yes, it is,’ she said with a little more terseness than she intended. It had never sat well with her that Harry was with Petunia and her family. 

‘Unless it’s not?’ asked Pomona. 

Minerva shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

‘Mr Potter is well?’ Filius asked with concern. The gossip train was rolling already, and Minerva was helpless to stop it. 

‘Oh yes, he’s fine by all accounts,’ Minerva said quietly. ‘Please, I’ll tell you both later on.’

The other professors let it go. They turned the next corner in silence and encountered another colleague. Professor Severus Snape was in the Potions faculty, recently promoted to Department Head, and thus spent many hours out of the sunlight in the dungeons where the department held classes. A part of Minerva so wished he would get out more. He had such potential.

‘He’s changed the damn password again,’ growled Severus. He was standing in front of a bronze statue of a gryphon, the guardian to the Headmaster’s office, with his characteristically sour disposition in full force. 

Flitwick chuckled in exasperation. 

The four professors began to list off names of wizardly sweet treats. This was another small character difference between most people and Dumbledore. Most people would choose  _ not  _ to have passwords named for sweets. Dumbledore chose differently. For that, the three of them were going to be late. 

‘Have you tried any Muggle sweets?’ suggested Minerva. ‘Sometimes he does use those.’

The four launched into shouting what Muggle brands they knew while Minerva wracked her brains some more. Two sets of footsteps came down the stone passageway. She turned, finding Rubeus Hagrid, an old friend of Dumbledore’s, as well as Quirinus Quirrell, a recent re-hire and new head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts department, coming towards her. Minerva had also taught Quirrell in Transfiguration not so very long ago, where he proved himself to be a gifted conjurer. 

Quirrell's fascination with Dark creatures such as banshees and hags was, unlike Hagrid, entirely theoretical. What had happened to Quirrell on his sabbatical was a mystery to Minerva, but his stutter that he’d slowly overcome during his time at Hogwarts was back in full force. He wore a purple turban, which was also odd, yet otherwise he would’ve appeared as respectable as Flitwick had he not appeared rumpled beyond all measure of refinement. 

‘Do either of you know what the password is?’ asked Pomona. ‘He’s changed it again.’

‘Oh, er, n-no…’ squeaked Quirrell. ‘Bouncing B-bon Bons?’

‘Have ye tried toffee eclairs?’ asked Hagrid. As the gamekeeper said the magic words, the gryphon began to slowly spin like a corkscrew, lifting pie-piece steps as it ascended, forming a spiral staircase. Sprout gave a sigh of relief and began the trek to enter the Headmaster’s office. 

‘Toffee eclairs?’ Severus repeated. ‘Who even likes those?’

‘Albus, apparently,’ muttered Pomona. 

It was one of Dumbledore’s many eccentricities to offer them an endless array of Muggle and magical sweets. Minerva was sure if he wasn’t a legendary wizard that he would’ve enjoyed being a confectioner tremendously. Perhaps in another universe, Dumbledore was the legendary rival of Ambrosius Flume of Honeydukes Sweet Shop and not Gellert Grindelwald, one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time. 

-oOo-

The six of them came up the staircase. Pomona opened the door and held it open for her fellow faculty members. The office was spacious and two-storied, filled with tomes and silvery instruments, magical artefacts and school records. At one corner lay the fireplace surrounded by various chintz armchairs and loveseats. The six gathered around the fireplace. Minerva sat primly in her usual wingback. 

‘Alrigh’, Severus?’ said Hagrid. Severus nodded stiffly. 

Hagrid pulled a teapot from one of his pockets and Filius began to boil water inside of it. 

‘Any idea what the meeting’s for?’ Filius asked Minerva.

Minerva swept her wand and conjured more cups and saucers, ‘Not a clue. I hope it’s not a prank.’

‘That would be something,’ said Pomona. She rummaged around in her robe pocket and pulled out a pressed brick of black tea, crumbling pieces of it into each mug. 

‘Did ye bring sugar, Severus?’ asked Hagrid. Severus scowled and pulled out a crystal flagon marked as sugar. Quirrell began to shakily conjure spoons. Soon, they all had tea and a prime example of teamwork- if reluctant on Severus’s part. 

Professor Dumbledore rounded out the group and unwittingly came in with a plate of biscuits perfect for the occasion. He was wearing another ghastly shade of turquoise that clashed tremendously with his pink-and-green slippers. What he lacked in practically coloured clothing he made up for in spades in experience and magical power. After all, he had taught Minerva Transfiguration when she was in school. Minerva respected his power, if not his often subversive means.

'Good morning, all,' said Professor Dumbledore. 'I would first like to re-introduce Quirinus Quirrell to you, who comes to us now as our newest Department Head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts, from Muggle Studies. Yet it seems you all knew that already.'

Quirrell chuckled nervously. Professor Dumbledore was satisfied by that lone chuckle and snapped his fingers, closing the door to his office. A series of magical runes on the door glowed with a white light for a moment and then disappeared, signalling that nothing on this earth would listen in on what they were about to discuss. 

Dumbledore placed the plate of biscuits on the table. Hagrid’s teapot poured him a cup under Flitwick’s guidance. 

‘Delightful bit of charmwork, Filius.’ Dumbledore remarked. Filius inclined his head. ‘Again, a good morning to you all, I wish to keep this meeting brief.’ He took a sip of tea and set it down. 

‘A friend of mine is in possession of an object that he wishes to keep here at Hogwarts for a time,’ said Dumbledore. ‘The object is such that I would ask each of you to contribute a measure of defence. Once you have devised such a defence, we can meet individually. Any questions?'

'What is the object?' asked Pomona. 

'I cannot say,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Not even amongst friends can a secret such as that be shared.'

Here, Professors Quirrell and Snape both were contemplative, as if both were trying to puzzle out the nature of the object from the few scant clues Professor Dumbledore had offered. Severus was just trying to solve a puzzle before him. When it came to Quirrell, she didn’t have a clue. He would be gone by the end of the year in any case. 

'In our defensive measures, what ought to be the aim?' asked Professor Flitwick.

'The goal is to provide hindrance if possible. Your measures collectively will target skills that no one individual will have, though surely would be an individual’s endeavour to solve,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Immediate deadly force is not necessary and not preferred. The main defences are provided by the castle itself, as even we are quite unassailable now.'

Flitwick nodded, still confused. Minerva didn’t blame him in the slightest. The entire situation was to be a mystery wrapped in a riddle. 

'Should we not d-disc…  _ discuss  _ the n-nature of our d-defences now?' Quirrell trembled, as if he half expected Professor Dumbledore to rap his knuckles with a ruler for daring to ask a question. Minerva figured, if he lasted a term, he’d die of nerves by May. 

'No, I think not,' Professor Dumbledore said kindly. 'Anonymity is its own defence. Don’t you agree, Quirinus?'

Quirrell trembled and sunk lower in his seat. It took all Minerva had to not tut at him to sit with proper posture. 

'This information couldn’t have been shared individually as well because…?' prompted Severus. 

Professor Dumbledore hummed. 'A very good question, Severus. One that I must surely have considered, then disregarded. Ah, but now that we are all here, it seems silly to tell you all again individually. Plus, there’s tea to be drunk!'

Snape’s expression soured once more. Hagrid smiled quietly under his beard. 

'May we see where we’re to defend, Albus?' asked Pomona.

‘Can we finish our tea first?’ asked Hagrid with a desperate plea clear on his face. Quirrell agreed. 

‘Very well, tea and then business.’ said Dumbledore. He smiled and offered his plate. ‘Biscuit, Quirinus?’

After finishing their tea and talking about their classes, the seven professors set down their cups. 

‘We will be taking a short excursion today,’ Albus said. ‘Grab onto each other, if you please.’

-oOo-

The professors did so. Quirrell nearly jumped out of his skin when Hagrid put his hand on the man’s shoulder. With a sharp sucking sensation, the seven of them Apparated into a small space. As Minerva’s hearing adjusted, she sensed that they were far below, though still in the castle. 

'Each measure of defence should take place within one of the six spaces beyond this chamber,' said Professor Dumbledore. 'I myself will defend this chamber, which will contain the object.'

At long last, the six professors reunited with Professor Dumbledore at the end of the complex, each presumably having a room and a defensive strategy in mind. Professor Dumbledore Apparated back into his office with the professors at hand. Minerva knew that Apparition wasn’t possible in Hogwarts for most people. Then again, Dumbledore was always a miraculous sort of wizard. 

-oOo-

'Thank you all for coming,' said Professor Dumbledore. He snapped his fingers and the door to his office unlocked with a flash of the white runes. 'Once you have an idea, please do make an appointment where we can discuss the measures further. Thank you.' Most of the professors filed out. 

Minerva said a short goodbye to Pomona, closing the door behind her. 

‘Minerva, is there something I can do for you?’ asked Professor Dumbledore. He gestured to the seat across his desk. 

‘Yes, Harry Potter is one of my advisees,’ said Minerva. She sat down. 

‘Oh excellent!’ Professor Dumbledore exclaimed. ‘Has he burnt his letter yet?’

‘Not quite. I am worried though. Petunia didn’t take her rejection here very well at all, as you recall.’

Dumbledore nodded sagely. ‘Ah. I see. Your concern is admirable-’

‘It’s not a concern. It’s more a fear,’ Minerva interrupted. ‘I don’t want Harry to grow up with his cousin’s resentment over his head, particularly when his aunt did the exact same thing to his mother.’

‘Have you had any indication that this might be the case?’ asked Dumbledore. 

‘The Ministry hasn’t shared their intelligence with me,’ Minerva said. ‘If they had any to begin with.’ 

‘I see,’ Professor Dumbledore said. ‘Yet you fear it will happen all the same?’

‘Yes,’ Minerva nodded. ‘Might a Ministry worker accompany me?’

Professor Dumbledore was surprised. ‘Of course. No, I do not believe that would be a problem.’ He quickly got out a pen and a scroll. ‘Do you remember Caroline Bingley? She gave a seminar last year on Muggle perceptive differences.’

‘Yes, I recall,’ said Minerva. She had laughed quietly to herself at a few of the inconsistencies in her presentation. 

‘Before her transfer she was a part of the Children's Division,’ Dumbledore said. ‘For that reason, I believe she would be ideal.’ His gaze turned to her hat by the door. ‘Your hat pin wiggled.’

‘Did it?’ she asked. It meant another person had burnt their letter. She turned around. Her hat pin was writhing like a worm in her hatband. 

‘Shall we continue later on?’ asked Professor Dumbledore.

‘I think that’s best,’ she said. She set her mug on the table. ‘Do you mind if I leave my bag and such here, Albus?’

‘Not at all, Minerva. I believe strongly in the bonding inherent in being entrusted with another’s possessions.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with an awkward smile. 

‘Bon voyage!’ said Professor Dumbledore with a small wave. 

-oOo-

Minerva grabbed her hat and took out the hat pin. As she did so, the pin grew a Muggle-like toggle button. As she pressed it, the entire implement glowed green. Holding on tightly, she disappeared into a wash of colour and white noise, not letting go of the hat pin. She closed her eyes. It felt as though she were going down a kaleidoscopic drain. As the roar subsided, Minerva opened her eyes and found herself on a Muggle street. 

She searched around for the sign for Privet Drive. A moment later, Caroline Bingley Apparated right next to her.

‘Afternoon, Professor McGonagall,’ she said. They had been near-yearmates, but had never really interacted all that much before. 

‘Bingley,’ Minerva greeted. ‘We’re to go to Number Four.’ She took off, not waiting for the bureaucrat to catch up.

‘Why did you request my consultation?’ Bingley said, huffing to keep up with Minerva’s brisk pace. ‘It’s very irregular.’

‘Well, given the circumstances, you can probably guess why. Harry Potter lives here. His guardians requested minimal contact. The situation called for that request to be, for the time being, ignored in full.’

‘I see,’ said Bingley. 

‘Here we are,’ Minerva said. To Minerva’s eye, Number Four, Privet Drive hadn’t changed at all in the ten years since she’d last seen it.

They walked to the door and knocked. Neither had Petunia, who opened the door, for that matter. 

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley,’ Bingley greeted. ‘Caroline Bingley, Ministry-Muggle Relations. Charmed.’ Petunia gave perhaps sourest smile Minerva had ever seen on someone other than Severus and quickly shook Bingley’s hand. ‘And you must be Harry.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Harry. Minerva was very pleased to visit Harry Potter again. Her worst fears hadn’t been realised, as he appeared quite healthy and well taken care of. If he wasn’t, Minerva would never forgive herself for letting him stay.

‘I am Professor McGonagall, from Hogwarts,’ she said to Harry. They shook hands. ‘Good afternoon, Petunia. Might we come inside?’

‘I would prefer if we spoke in the garden,’ Petunia said. 

‘ _ Typical Petunia, _ ’ Minerva thought. ‘ _ If you don’t like something, shove it away in the back. _ ’

Petunia led them through the house. There were hardly any photographs of Harry, though there were plenty of whom Minerva assumed to be Harry’s cousin. There was even a large, gaudy painting of the three Dursleys, sans Harry. She had a very bad feeling about all of this. 

After a bit where Bingley bandied with Harry and probably overloaded his brain with information about the rules and regulations, Petunia stood up. ‘You said Ministry-Muggle Relations?’ Petunia asked Ms Bingley. She nodded that, indeed, that was her department. ‘Won’t you come inside? I have some questions.’

Petunia had always been odd. Inviting two witches into her home and separating them to talk to one one-on-one where previously she wanted nothing to do with “their kind” was exceptionally odd for her. Perhaps it wasn’t what Bingley was, but who she was and why she was here. Ministry-Muggle Relations was a part of the Wizengamot, bound by law to provide them a range of services. What sort of service was Petunia looking to engage?

Minerva kept up the conversation with Harry and spoke about Hogwarts, though her mind was elsewhere. Selective transformation were part of her abilities as an Animagus and were rather handy in situations such as these. 

Currently, her inner ear more closely resembled that of a cat than that of a human, allowing her to hear to a far greater degree than she normally would. Through the glass of the Dursley’s conservatory, she heard Petunia talking with Bingley. 

‘Professor, did the Dursleys know that I was a wizard?’ asked Harry. It was an odd question. 

‘Why would you think to ask me?’ she asked, ‘Surely your guardians would have told you.’

‘Sorry, it just seemed like you knew Aunt Petunia is all,’ Harry said. Did he truly know nothing at all?

‘Yes, they knew,’ she replied quickly. 

Minerva listened to the conversation inside. ‘ _ Harry ought to be moved to a different house  _ ,’ Petunia said.

‘Why did they keep that from me?’ asked Harry. ‘ _ I don’t think Harry having magic would be healthy for Dudley’s self-esteem.  _ ’ 

Minerva paused to collect herself. She was so appalled by Petunia, she almost missed Harry’s question. ‘It probably wasn’t clear until quite recently,’ Minerva said. ‘We’ve noticed eleven is the most active year for accidental magic.’ 

‘ _ I see. Well, there are several options available to you-  _ ’

Harry shook his head. ‘My mum was a witch. My aunt grew up with her. I’m sure that she remembers.’

‘I’m not sure, Mr Potter, what your aunt does or doesn’t remember about your sister,’ said Minerva. It wasn’t fair to Harry for her attention to be divided, but this was very important. She normalised her ear.

‘Sorry,’ Harry mumbled.

‘No need to apologise,’ she said, ‘I simply do not know.’

‘What exactly do you teach?’ asked Harry. Minerva glanced up at him. 

‘Transfiguration,’ she said. Harry stared. ‘Transfiguration encompasses all magic that alters, conjures, or vanishes physical matter.’ 

Minerva took out her wand and flicked it towards the Dursleys’ garden shed. In a matter of moments it transformed into a small elephant that snorted at the two of them before reverting to its former shape and sentience.

She continued on her conversation, though tried to piece together what she had missed from Petunia’s wheedling.

‘ _ Well, I am very sorry to hear that  _ ,’ Bingley said. ‘  _ Though it brings me no pleasure to do so, it is my legal duty to inform you that you can indeed place him in the foster care system through the Ministry. I advise you though-  _ ’

‘ _ Yes. What’s the process?  _ ’ asked Petunia. Minerva seethed. That wretched woman was throwing out Mr Potter like he was day old bread. The process was fairly simple, as it was an inquiry into Potter’s life followed by removal. She was furious. Petunia had a duty of care to Harry and she was dropping it the first chance she had.

‘What’s Hogwarts like?’ Harry asked.

‘It’s fantastic,’ she replied. She gave Harry her full attention. She’d heard enough. ‘There are hundreds of rooms, moving staircases, secret passageways. No one has successfully explored all of Hogwarts, though your father and his friends came very close.’

‘How close?’ he asked. 

‘Very,’ she said dryly. 

Harry smiled. ‘I think I’ve done a lot of charms.’

‘It’s very common,’ she said. Ms Bingley came to them very solemnly. Minerva got the message that it was time to leave. 

‘Well, I'm afraid I will have to cut this meeting short,’ she said. ‘Professor, if you would.’

Minerva stood and was handed her hat by Bingley. Her grim expression belied the fact that she was fully aware what Petunia intended. Harry offered her his hand again. 

‘Nice meeting you, Professor,’ Harry said. They shook. 

‘Take care, Mr Potter,’ Minerva said. ‘If you have more questions, I will be collecting you the day after your birthday to go to Diagon Alley. I hope you can remember them until then.’

Harry smiled at her and Minerva all but stormed through the house, ignoring that blasted woman’s proffered handshake. The door all but slammed behind them.

‘Professor, would you mind terribly escorting me to Hogwarts?’ Bingley asked. ‘I need to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. Immediately.’

Minerva nodded and took Bingley’s arm in her hand. ‘Yes, I believe I must as well.’

-oOo-

Turning suddenly, they Apparated into Hogsmeade and walked quickly up to the gates. In a very short amount of time (the trek made shorter by Minerva’s knowledge of the secret passageways), they were at Professor Dumbledore’s office again. 

‘Caroline! Minerva!’ Dumbledore said, putting down his quill as they entered the office. ‘How fares Mr Potter?’

‘I have some bad news,’ Bingley said. She turned to Minerva and smiled. ‘Thank you, Professor.’ 

Minerva bristled. She’d every right to remain. She made it known by sitting in the only chair across Dumbledore’s desk. She was so enraged that she nearly spat fire at Bingley for her audacity. 

Dumbledore sensed Minerva’s outrage. ‘Anything you have to say to me you may say to Professor McGonagall if it concerns Mr Potter’s welfare,’ he said. ‘She is my deputy, you know.’

Bingley hesitated, but gave McGonagall an apologetic smile. ‘Very well,’ she turned back to Dumbledore. ‘Mrs Dursley has engaged her prerogative under the Muggle Rights clause to remove Mr Potter.’

Dumbledore’s serene expression faded. He slumped into his chair, but not before engaging the privacy runes. ‘She- oh this is bad news indeed,’ he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘What were the reasons?’

‘Irreconcilable differences,’ Bingley reported. ‘She claimed to be unable to care for a magical child.’

Such utter bull. One would wonder if Petunia Dursley thought Harry was a ticking time bomb or an Erumpent during mating season. 

‘I noticed that Harry featured in far fewer photographs than their son,’ Minerva supplied. Dumbledore replaced his glasses. ‘I have a sneaking suspicion that Petunia was rather uneven in her approach to her two charges.’

Dumbledore nodded. He took it all in stride, like always. ‘Is there nothing to be done?’

Bingley shook her head. ‘She refused any other social service I could provide her, Headmaster. I came as a courtesy, and to ask if there was another magical family mentioned in the Potters’ will.’

‘There are none,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘They are all either dead or bedridden, I am afraid to say.’

‘So now he’s in the tender mercies of Miriam Fletcher,’ McGonagall scoffed. ‘ _ Excellent  _ . Do you know how many students I’ve had to refer to Mind Healers because of that woman?’

‘Nothing could be proven or could stick,’ Bingley said. ‘I tried my best, but I was transferred. I can request he be placed outside of the group home. I’m sure the director will see that this is a rather delicate situation.’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I will inform him of the gravity of the situation, and also formally request Fletcher be taken off the registry. Has the media been informed?’

‘Media?’ Minerva said incredulously. ‘Albus, he’s a child.’

‘Mr Potter is a Lord in Minority of the Wizengamot as well as one of the most famous wizards in Britain, if not the most famous,’ Dumbledore reminded her. As if she needed reminding. That wasn’t the point she was trying to make. ‘Have they, Caroline?’

‘No, not as yet.’ she said. ‘I suspect when I file the inquiry, there will be media attention.’

‘I suggest you keep his address and school confidential,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I do not wish for the mob to tear the Dursleys to shreds.’

‘Unfortunately,’ murmured Minerva. She was rather tired of the Ministry and of the Dursleys. 

Bingley didn’t hear her, or chose to ignore her. ‘A good suggestion,’ she said. ‘I will ask the director.’

‘Very well,’ Dumbledore nodded once more. ‘Otherwise, send the reporters to me. I am the executor, after all.’

‘Alright,’ Bingley said. ‘I will inform you where he is sheltered and who will take him in once the forms are completed.’

One family in particular that Minerva knew sprang to mind. 

‘Might I suggest the Tonks family?’ she said. ‘Their daughter Nymphadora just graduated.’

‘A capital idea, Minerva. I will ask them myself,’ Dumbledore said. He had rather a lot to ask for today. ‘Is that all, Caroline?’

‘Yes,’ Bingley smoothed out her robes. ‘Good day, Professors.’

Dumbledore inclined his head. ‘You may use my Floo.’

Bingley took a handful of powder on the sill and threw it into the hearth. A bright green flame roared to life. ‘Ministry of Magic, Children's Division!’ she called and stepped into the flames. 

‘I don’t miss a day at the Ministry,’ Minerva sighed. She had worked as a quill-pusher in the Legal Division before she was given a post at Hogwarts. She hated almost every minute of it.

Dumbledore took out several sheets of parchment. ‘Indeed.’

‘I just don’t understand how this could have happened, Albus,’ said Minerva. 

‘There was no other way,’ Dumbledore frowned. ‘I made a mistake in thinking that Petunia had reconciled with her sister being magic. Or if she had, that Petunia would have changed.’

‘I overheard much of it,’ Minerva said. Dumbledore wasn’t surprised at all. ‘She was - oh! She was vile! Yet, as you say, the Dursleys were the only real option,’. Professor Dumbledore nodded. 

'I did not wish to be uncertain when it came to Harry’s welfare. I did not know the depths of Petunia’s animosity. Had I known…' Professor Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged, a tear in the corner of his eye. 'Yet a decision had to be made and it fell to me to decide.’

'Why didn’t you check in, make sure that Harry was well tended?' asked Minerva. 

'To what end, Minerva?’ Dumbledore asked calmly. ‘If I had, the situation would have escalated. 

‘Would the Wizengamot legislate more discriminatory measures against Muggles that know of our world? Would Harry have been treated like a prince without fully comprehending why? Would he have even survived in our world? 

Dumbledore shook his head. ' I did not consider it wise to interfere.’

‘I suppose you couldn’t have,’ Minerva said. ‘He seemed well enough - Mr Potter.’

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Good. I am glad to hear it. With any luck, the Tonkses will treat him like family for the few months that remain.’

Minerva didn’t doubt it one bit. Edward was a wonderful Muggleborn boy sorted into Hufflepuff. Against all odds, he’d married a Pureblood Slytherin and cousin to many a Death Eater, Andromeda Black. The two had a child, Andromeda was disowned. Their daughter was so very lively, clumsy and mischievous. Minerva wouldn’t miss the many detentions she had with Ms Tonks. 

‘How quickly will the inquiry last?’ asked Minerva. The Tonkses really were rather perfect. 

‘I do not know. Ms McNair’s lasted a year, yet she was in a group home. Mr Pucey’s was two months, but only because his uncle refused to let him leave the house.’

‘A  _ comforting  _ thought,’ said Minerva. She really didn’t want Mr Potter to remain in there any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

‘Mm,’ Dumbledore put down his quill. ‘I’ll place a Watcher ward on the residence. No doubt the Ministry will install one as well, so it ought to go unnoticed.’

Minerva nodded. Her hat pin wiggled. She nearly groaned.

‘I believe Severus is waiting in the wings,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Many of his advisees were Purebloods and exchange students, as I understand it. You ought to tell him to, ah, step up.’

‘I’ll ask,’ she said. Dumbledore returned to the new stack of letters he needed to write. 

-oOo-

Minerva left Dumbledore’s office. She closed the door behind her and remained on the top step of the spiral staircase that led into the main castle. She focused on the gryphon-shaped guardian statue that stood in the centre of the stair. 

Slowly, the statue lowered like a corkscrew, the staircase flattening as Minerva descended with it. As she entered the castle proper, she found Severus walking away from the direction of the Headmaster’s office.

'Severus,' she called. The man paused and turned, his cloak whipping.

'Yes, Minerva?' he said.

'You know, you aren’t nearly as subtle as you believe,' she said wryly. 'How much did you hear?'

Severus’s jaw clacked. 'Enough.'

‘As your penance, take the rest of these,’ she said. She handed him the hat pin. He scowled at her, but made no move to give it back.

‘Is that all?’ he seethed.

‘Of course,’ said Minerva lightly. They walked together down the corridor and back to the portrait of Merwyn the Malicious, identical to the one near her living quarters. 

'The Darkest Art,' said Minerva. That had been the password earlier in the day. 

Merwyn scowled at her disdainfully. 'My password hath changed. I cannot grant thee passage.'

Minerva frowned. Severus strode forward.

'Aethelred,' he said smoothly. Merwyn sighed but swung open the hidden door behind his portrait nonetheless. 

'Thank you, Severus,' said Minerva. He said nothing, instead striding through Merwyn’s portrait. She followed after him.

‘So Petunia is abandoning Mr Potter?’ asked Severus when they reached the first floor corridor.

‘It would seem so,’ said Minerva. Why was he being so nosy? She supposed it had to do with Severus’ past association with Mr Potter’s mother. They were the best of friends growing up, apparently. 

‘He’s going to a group home?’ asked Severus. 

‘No,’ Minerva said. Not likely. ‘Dumbledore is asking the Tonks family to take him in.’

‘I see,’ said Severus slowly.

‘I didn’t think you’d take such an interest, Severus,’ said Minerva mildly. The way she said it or what she said made Severus stop in his tracks. 

‘Of course I take an interest,’ Severus snapped. ‘Mr Potter is to be my student and perhaps in my House. No doubt  _ that  _ would be a curious occurrence, don’t you agree?’

Minerva rolled her eyes. ‘He’s a boy, not a dissection,’ said Minerva. 

‘He’ll be both if he ends up in my House,’ warned Severus.

_ That  _ made Minerva stop in her tracks. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘No, it’s a promise,’ replied Severus. 

‘Oh, I doubt you’ll let that happen,’ Minerva said. Severus scowled again. He peeled off back to the entrance to the dungeons, his robes billowing. 

Minerva hoped for Harry’s sake that Severus was mistaken. 


	4. Fireplaces and Farewells

Harry didn’t sleep well at all. He had no idea why he was being thrown out. Sure he wasn’t the nicest to Dudley, but Dudley beat him. Tormented him. Dudley was his biggest fear. They’d always stopped it if they ever saw it, but that wasn’t a good reason for Harry to be kicked to the curb. If anything, Dudley should be sent away, not Harry. Harry was second best and Dudley’s patsy. 

Dudley had kicked footballs at Harry, targeted him during rugby games even when they were on the same team. If he had to go to Smeltings with Dudley, Dudley would probably try to brain Harry with his Smeltings standard-issue knobbly stick in the first hour. At the very least, Harry was confident he could score a few hits of his own. It wasn’t going to happen though, especially if Harry would go somewhere else. 

Even if he did stay, it wouldn’t be any better. If Harry came back with a toad and a telescope, he was sure Dudley would break them. He already knew Aunt Petunia’s opinion on magic. No, they were getting rid of him because he had magic. Harry never wanted to be different than them. He had tried and tried to be just like them but he never could. Maybe they always knew that. They had been planning this, surely.

Harry balled his fists. He wouldn’t cry. He had done that plenty last night. He would prove them wrong and prove that magic was something great, not something to throw someone out for. He put the Dursleys out of his mind for a time and considered the different world he’d soon find himself in. 

The Introductory to Wizardry course meant that there was an entirely different culture that existed right next to the Muggle one, the non-magical one. How did the wizards keep themselves secret? Why would they want to? Were there laws about magic and stuff? All these questions made Harry’s brain hurt. He was just bursting at the seams with them at this point. How would they be answered?

Harry’s only lifeline was the letter. He nearly had another breakdown given how uncertain everything else was in terms of him staying at the Dursleys and also what sort of things he could tell his friends about Hogwarts. He had read the letter over and over again, hoping to memorise some sort of pattern. 

'"A representative will arrive shortly after you reply to the offer to your location and provide further explanation and details on financial assistance, if necessary. For access to this service, please say ‘Hopscotch’ while replying to this letter."' read Harry. 

He’d have to burn the letter in order to reply, but couldn’t reply because the Dursleys would find out and send him off to the school forever. That was the trouble.

How would Harry burn it without the Dursleys knowing about it? He couldn’t start a fire. Aunt Petunia always hid the matches from Dudley and him. Even if he found the matches, the Dursleys surely would notice him lighting a fire in the middle of summer. They would at least hear him leaving the house to do it elsewhere. Harry sighed. He couldn’t-

Wait.

He had magic. 

Harry nearly slapped himself. It was so simple, really. He took out one of his bath towels and placed it on his floor and opened the window. If it all went pear-shaped he could throw the burning towel out of the window no problem. He would’ve preferred to do it out in the open, or in the fireplace in the living room downstairs. Given the circumstances though, Harry threw caution to the wind. 

Harry placed the letter- and only the letter- onto the floor. He tucked the rule book and supply list into his bag and placed it by the door should this all go really pear shaped. He glanced up, waiting for the inevitable. Sooner or later, the Dursleys would come upstairs and tell Harry to pack his things to be sent off to Siberia or Newfoundland or something and Harry would lose the one chance he had forever. 

Harry focused intently at the paper and thought, 'Woosh!'

Nothing happened. He wasn’t discouraged, since his first attempt was a bit dim. What had worked before? What had made magic?

Harry had levitated a coin before, hadn’t he? He hadn’t meant for it to levitate on its own, but it did. Did Harry have to think about the letter not catching on fire? Harry didn’t even want to puzzle out how to cause something by not wanting it. He stuck out his hand and pictured the letter bursting into flames, wanting it to happen with all his might. The letter didn’t catch. 

How about when he teleported? He’d gone from the front of the school to the roof, to the canteen and back to the roof. In those situations he focused on getting out from under Dudley’s grasp. He guessed that this was how magic worked. He had to really want it to work, for it to work. That made sense. 

Harry stuck out his hand again over the paper. He scrunched up his face. He really, really wanted this letter to catch fire. He poured all his desperation, his enthusiasm, his giddiness for his one exceptional ability into the piece of paper in front of him. He sniffed. He didn’t smell smoke.

He opened his eyes. The letter was still unburnt. Harry groaned in frustration. 

‘I can’t do it!’ exclaimed Harry. What sort of magician couldn’t reliably use his tricks?

Harry’s bedroom door opened, revealing Uncle Vernon. Harry froze. No doubt he’d heard most everything. 

‘What the devil are you doing up here?’ he said, his gaze on the beach-toweled letter.

‘Reading?’ said Harry weakly. He gestured to the stack of books on his nightstand. 

Uncle Vernon’s moustache twitched. ‘Bring it downstairs. Your aunt said we needed to burn it.’

Harry picked up the letter, threw his towel on the bed, and walked downstairs. Vernon closed Harry’s bedroom door behind him. Harry walked down like he coming down the stairs to a certain doom. 

-oOo-

Harry took stock of his situation and Number Four. He slept in the smaller of two bedrooms. Glancing at the pictures along the wall, he was in far fewer pictures than Dudley and ones he posed in were of him alone or with his friends. It was as if he was noticing all of it for the first time. He was second best, even before he could do magic. He didn’t like that scenario, really. 

The hallways were neat like always, the kitchen immaculate. Not a spot of personality or a stain of life. Still though, a large portrait of the three Dursleys featured prominently on the far wall of the dining room. It was like a showroom, and Dudley was the prized collection. Harry wasn’t even in the far corner of the painting that he always hated but couldn’t figure out why.

Harry turned and entered the living-room. His Aunt Petunia wore a simple peach dress and sat primly in her chair furthest from the fireplace. The fire roared more merrily than it had before, like the house itself was glad to be rid of him. 

‘Is it true?’ asked Harry shakily. 

‘What?’ his aunt asked. ‘What’s true?’

‘That you’re- that I’m…’ Harry breathed. ‘You’re kicking me out. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t mean-’

‘What?’ Uncle Vernon said. ‘What gave you that idea?’ Curiously, Aunt Petunia had said nothing. Harry didn’t want to believe it, but here she sat and she wasn’t saying “No, no we’re not we love you”.

‘I’ve always been second best,’ Harry said. He gestured to the photograph in the dining room. ‘Always. Why didn’t you do this before?’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Uncle Vernon. He glanced pleadingly at Aunt Petunia for support. She wasn’t forthcoming. Maybe she hadn’t told Vernon yet. 

‘You said,’ Harry turned and pointed to his aunt. ‘that the school would take me. Didn’t you?’

‘Don’t raise your voice,’ said Uncle Vernon. 

‘I did nothing wrong!’ yelled Harry. One of Aunt Petunia’s pots exploded on the mantelpiece. 

‘Harry calm down,’ said Uncle Vernon. Harry eyed the pot and took a deep breath. The pot didn’t deserve it.

‘I was talking about your supplies,’ Aunt Petunia said, her shoulders tense. ‘The school will take you to get them next month.’

‘What?’ Harry said. ‘That’s not it. That can’t be it.’

‘It is,’ said Uncle Vernon. ‘We’re not kicking you out, Harry. We were talking about your supplies.’

‘Oh,’ said Harry softly. 

‘Apologise to your aunt.’

‘Sorry, Aunt Petunia,’ said Harry. He wasn’t sorry at all. 

Aunt Petunia sniffed. ‘Throw it in. Say Hamilton or whatever it is.’

‘Hopscotch,’ Harry said. She nodded sharply. 

Harry lowered himself to the floor and held the letter to the fire. ‘Hopscotch, hopscotch, hopscotch, hopscotch…’ Harry murmured over and over. He flung the letter into the hearth as it became too hot to handle. He was awestruck as the letter curled up on itself, the flames blending from orange to green to white. Then it was gone. 

Two whiplike cracks boomed outside, startling the three of them.

‘Dad? What’s going on?’ Dudley yelled from his bedroom. Uncle Vernon glanced up.

‘I thought he was at Piers,’ he said to Aunt Petunia. He focused back up toward the stairs and yelled, ‘Nothing! Nothing at all.’

The doorbell rang. ‘Distract him,’ Aunt Petunia hissed at Uncle Vernon. She rose gracefully and whipped around to the entranceway while Vernon went up the stairs to distract Dudley Harry followed them. 

Petunia opened the door. 

-oOo-

Two women wearing academic gowns and pointed hats came in, taking off their hats. One woman, taller than the other and in a green gown had a very serious expression and a tight hair bun, while the other wore pinstripes with a large gold pin on her front in the shape of an M. 

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley,’ the second woman said. ‘Caroline Bingley, Ministry-Muggle Relations. Charmed.’

Petunia smiled for a moment and shook the woman’s hand icily, as if she would catch something from the contact. ‘And you must be Harry.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Harry. He shook her hand with a lot more vigour.

‘I am Professor McGonagall, from Hogwarts,’ she said to Harry. ‘Good afternoon, Petunia. Might we come inside?’

‘I would prefer if we spoke in the garden,’ Aunt Petunia said. Harry figured they must have met before. 

Professor McGonagall came inside. She put her hat next to Ms Bingley’s on the hook. Harry led them into the back garden. 

-oOo-

Harry had once painted the white roses around the back fence red after he read Alice in Wonderland. He nearly laughed at the memory of Uncle Vernon’s face turned beet-like, like the Queen of Hearts.

The two women sat across from them at a table. Harry peered inside. Uncle Vernon ushered Dudley from the front. Aunt Petunia hadn’t offered them drinks. That was very unlike her. 

‘You have a lovely home, Mrs Dursley,’ said Ms Bingley. 

‘Thank you,’ said Aunt Petunia reflexively.

‘Right,’ Professor McGonagall turned to Harry. ‘You must have many questions, Mr Potter.’

‘I do,’ said Harry. 

‘We’re here to answer them,’ Ms Bingley said. ‘First off though, I must inform you that the first duty of the Ministry of Magic is to enforce the laws that maintain the integrity of our society, namely the International Statute of Secrecy.’

‘So we can’t tell anyone,’ said Harry.

‘Pretty much,’ Ms Bingley replied. ‘No one beyond your immediate family, that is, Mr and Mrs and Dudley Dursley, can know.’

‘Also, you can’t cast magic outside of school, except in the rare instance where your life or another’s is in danger,’ said McGonagall. It was little harsh, especially since he would be learning magic. How could he practise without actually casting magic?

‘How will you all know?’ asked Harry. They must use cameras or crystal balls to check in on people. Crystal balls would be cool. 

‘We have a system in place that tracks underaged wizards,’ Ms Bingley said. ‘Of course, the system hasn’t been tracking you so far because you haven’t begun your education, but now it’s in full force.’

Harry gulped. ‘Alright. No magic, no telling.’

‘We recommend that you also cut ties with your friends in the Muggle world.’ Ms Bingley said. ‘This will ensure you have a smooth transition. Say you’re going to an exclusive boarding school in Scotland. Should they ask which boarding school, well…’

‘Unless of course you don’t wish to go to Hogwarts?’ asked Professor McGonagall. 

Harry considered it. He had a few good friends that he’d known for a very long time. He knew some of the boys were going off to Smeltings or moving away to a comprehensive. If he stayed, he would lose out on magic but wouldn’t have to lie to his friends. It wouldn’t be much of a choice.

‘What happens if I don’t?’ Harry asked. Professor McGonagall quirked an eyebrow. ‘Not that I don’t want to, I’m just curious.’

‘Your magic will be bound and your memories of magic modified,’ Ms Bingley replied. ‘In essence, you would become a Muggle.’

‘Oh,’ Harry exclaimed. He liked magic so far. He didn’t want to lose out on that. Plus, he didn’t want to be like Dudley. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘No one does, really,’ said Professor McGonagall dryly. 

‘In addition, you will have access to a number of public services,’ Ms Bingley said. She took out a folded parchment and handed it to Petunia. 

‘These are the addresses for St. Mungo’s Hospital, the Whitehall entrance for the Ministry, and the Leaky Cauldron,’ she explained. ‘There are instructions at each location to access the Floo Network, a series of fireplace-based place transports around Magical Europe.’

‘So Harry could use this network to get to Majorca and back?’ asked Aunt Petunia. It was just like her to speculate about travel opportunities. The Dursleys had been to Majorca so many times, Harry was surprised they hadn’t applied for Spanish citizenship yet and move there permanently. 

‘In a few seconds, even,’ Ms Bingley replied. ‘Unfortunately, this is for future reference, as he cannot access this network without a magical guardian or until he turns seventeen.’

‘What a shame,’ said Aunt Petunia. 

‘Supplies my foot,’ thought Harry. ‘She’s still thinking about how to get rid of me.’ 

‘How will I keep up, if I can’t do magic at home?’ asked Harry. He knew he was already behind. He didn’t want to stay behind forever.

‘That is an unfortunate condition of the Muggleborns and Muggle-raised,’ said Ms Bingley. ‘I’m sure at Hogwarts you will have sufficient review to keep up your skills.’ 

‘That wasn’t very fair,’ Harry thought. 

‘There’s more to magic than waving around a wand and saying funny words,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘There’s theory, and of course other subjects that don’t particularly need a wand.’

‘Let’s see,’ Ms Bingley glanced at a clipboard from her bag. ‘Ah yes, and should you need any sort of legal service, you may submit it in writing to the Whitehall address. The Wizengamot is the legislative and judicial body and the support staff there will help to process your claim.’

‘You said Ministry-Muggle Relations?’ Aunt Petunia asked. Ms Bingley nodded. ‘Won’t you come inside? I have some questions.’

‘Of course,’ said Ms Bingley. ‘Any more questions for me, Harry?’ Harry shook his head. Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes at Petunia as Bingley and her went back inside. 

‘I must say you’re taking this all rather well,’ said Professor McGonagall.

Harry shrugged. ‘I sort of figured it out a few days ago. I’ve done a lot of stuff. Accidents, you know. Aunt Petunia said Hogwarts could help with that.’

‘Yes it’s one of our main goals in the first year,’ Professor McGonagall replied. ‘Training cuts down on accidents, you know.’

Harry glanced behind. Aunt Petunia was deep in conversation with Ms Bingley. This was the only chance to ask Professor McGonagall something that had been on his mind for a while. ‘Professor, did the Dursleys know that I was a wizard?’

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would you think to ask me? ‘Surely your guardians would have told you.’

‘Sorry, it just seemed like you knew Aunt Petunia is all,’ Harry said. He hadn’t meant to offend her. 

‘Yes, they knew,’ said Professor McGonagall. Harry was right; they had met before. 

Now it was time for the bigger question. 

‘Why did they keep that from me?’

Professor McGonagall blinked. ‘It probably wasn’t clear until quite recently. We’ve noticed eleven is the most active year for accidental magic.’

Harry shook his head. ‘My mum was a witch. My aunt grew up with her. I’m sure that she remembers.’

‘I’m not sure, Mr Potter, what your aunt does or doesn’t remember about your sister,’ said Professor McGonagall. Harry got the impression she was a very scary woman indeed. 

‘Sorry,’ said Harry sheepishly.

‘No need to apologise,’ she said, ‘I simply do not know.’

She paused as if to collect herself. 

‘Now, do you have any questions for me?’

‘What exactly do you teach?’ asked Harry. It was a safe question. 

‘Transfiguration,’ she said. Harry blinked a few times. ‘Transfiguration encompasses all magic that alters, conjures, or vanishes physical matter.’ She took out a wand from her robe lapel and flicked it towards the Dursleys’ garden shed. In a matter of moments it transformed into a small elephant that snorted at the two of them before turning back.

‘Oh wow,’ said Harry. He stared at the shed for a moment longer. 

‘Yes, you’ll take many subjects while at Hogwarts, including Transfiguration,’ Professor McGonagall said with a small smirk. ‘I’m afraid that you won’t be transfiguring sheds into elephants until quite into your seventh year.’

‘It sounds really difficult,' said Harry. ‘I’ve never turned a shed into an elephant before.’

'Transfiguration is very precise, to be sure.' replied Professor McGonagall. She replaced her wand beneath her robe lapel. 

‘What are the others?’ asked Harry.

'Well let’s see, there’s History of Magic, Astronomy, Herbology, and Potions,’ she said, ‘Those three you can revise rather easily here. Then there’s Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms, and of course Transfiguration that you’ll have to do more theory of. The last three require far more wandwork than the four I first mentioned.’

‘What’s Herbology?’ Harry asked.

‘It’s a sort of magical botany. In Herbology, one identifies and tends to different breeds of magical plants that have many uses and unique qualities.’

Harry wrinkled his nose. 'I’m not sure I’ll like Herbology,' he said. 'I mean I like gardening, but I don't think I want to do it for a class. I help out sometimes out here, you know.’

‘Gardening is far different in the magical world. The plants are far more interesting.’

Harry wasn’t convinced, but didn’t press the issue. 'You mentioned Charms. What are they?' he asked.

'Charms are spells that impart or create a magical effect for utility rather than combat. The class naturally deals in those sorts of spells,' replied Professor McGonagall. 

'That sounds fun,' Harry said. 

'In addition, you will also be learning how to fly on broomsticks as well as taking a class on Wizarding culture, which is required for Muggleborns and Muggle-raised children.'

‘What’s Hogwarts like?’ Harry asked.

‘It’s fantastic,’ Professor McGonagall replied. ‘There are hundreds of rooms, moving staircases, secret passageways. No one has successfully explored all of Hogwarts, though your father and his friends came very close.’

‘How close?’ he asked. 

‘Very,’ she drawled. 

Harry smiled and leaned back. ‘I think I’ve done a lot of charms.’

‘It’s very common,’ said Professor McGonagall. Her ears had been wiggling throughout their conversation, as if she were a cat that heard a noise elsewhere. She turned sharply as the door opened. Ms Bingley had squinched up her face as if she had swallowed something unpleasant mere moments before.

‘Well I’m afraid I will have to cut this meeting short,’ said Ms Bingley. ‘Professor, if you would.’

Professor McGonagall stood. Bingley handed her her hat. Harry shook Professor McGonagall’s hand again. ‘Nice meeting you, Professor.’

‘Take care, Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘If you have more questions, I will be collecting you the day after your birthday to go to Diagon Alley. I hope you can remember them until then.’

Harry smiled. The two witches left the way they came. Shortly after Aunt Petunia closed the door, there were the same whiplike cracks that he heard before. She smiled at Harry, but it was rather fixed. 

It was only later that month that Harry knew why. 

-oOo-

On his birthday, Harry had his going away party at the park near Number Four. It was a small gathering, and only really a few people had shown up. Harry was fine with it. The people there were worth saying goodbye to, except Dudley. For some reason, Dudley was at Harry’s party. Harry supposed he couldn’t have too much of a good thing.

For the past month, he’d worked so hard to try and keep talk around Hogwarts and magic to a minimum. He didn’t ask about when Professor McGonagall was going to get him, or how he would get to a magical school in Scotland without a train serving wherever Hogsmeade Village was. Clearly Harry had been too emotionally distraught to ask these things himself. 

Dudley of course had filled in all the gaps of attention between his mother and father that Harry had occupied for a brief moment. Harry’s cousin acted a fiend for attention at the best of times. At the worst of times, he’d do almost anything to be the center of attention. One boy’s father took his son home early because Dudley had kept talking to the boy, idly threatening him with the Smeltings stick he’d brought along for the occasion if the boy didn’t stop talking about how much he was going to miss Harry. 

Aunt Petunia hadn’t minded. Her and Uncle Vernon had a lot of opportunities to fix Dudley’s behaviour and had never taken them. This was especially true with how Dudley had treated Harry over the years. If Harry had fought back, he’d get chastised lightly. If Dudley bullied Harry as he had for years, his aunt and uncle would call Harry crazy or confrontational for telling them about it. 

Harry didn’t realise quite how bad it was until this month. He spent more time in his room this July than he had in any other one because of Dudley. His gang had stepped up their game after Harry’s letter arrived. Harry had had a couple of phone calls with his close friends Mark Zhang and Rodney Georgeson, but other than them he’d hardly spoken a peep. 

‘It's a very nice party, Harry,’ said Mark. Harry jumped. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Oh thanks, and it’s no problem,’ Harry said. ‘It means a lot that you came.’ Harry leaned in. ‘I’m sorry that it isn’t actually any good. You know how Uncle Vernon is about spending money.’ 

‘When it’s not Dudley,’ thought Harry. Thirty-six expensive presents arranged like a throne around the chair were seared into Harry’s memory. 

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Mark replied. They began to walk over to where the snacks were. ‘Say, why is Dudley here?’

‘My aunt and uncle. They brought him here,’ Harry said gloomily. ‘Jacob went home early because Dudley wasn’t happy he was talking about me instead of Dudley. He’s ruining everything like always.’

‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ Mark said in sympathy. He passed Harry a new cup of watered-down lemonade. ‘But hey, maybe this new school will be good for you. I know you wanted to go to Stonewall with us, but Scotland’s exciting, I suppose.’

Harry shrugged. They walked over to the swings.‘I guess. My mum went there. I think my dad did too.’ He’d conveniently left out the part where this wasn’t any ordinary boarding school.

‘Makes sense you’d want to go,’ said Mark, nodding sagely. He blanched. ‘Oh here he comes.’

Harry turned around. His cousin Dudley held his Smelting’s stick like a billy club. ‘Potter, where’s the cake?’

‘Cake?’ Mark said with a little laugh. ‘You never said there’d be a cake, Harry.’

‘There wasn’t. Not yet. Dudley here was supposed to help make it, but forgot,’ Harry said. He wasn’t as afraid when there were people around, but his hand shook behind his back. Dudley gripped his stick tighter. ‘Like I told you, Dudley, Aunt Petunia went to Tesco’s to get one. She’d be back in a few, she said.’

Dudley ground his teeth. He lurched to the side and fell upon Harry’s presents from the other kids. ‘Look at all these stupid gifts,’ he picked up several. ‘All you asked for were books and… more books?’

‘Harry, don’t,’ hissed Mark. Out of the corner of his eye, a long box shimmer into existence. He had to get Dudley away from the table. 

‘Those are journals, Dudley,’ Harry sighed. ‘If you had any original thought, they’d go in there.’

Dudley grimaced, but followed Harry’s glances to the package. His face lit up in triumph. ‘I’m telling Dad.’ He ran off with his stick in hand. 

Harry and Mark both let out a sigh of relief. Mark picked up one package. ‘Harry, what is this?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry replied, ‘I was going to open it before I left.’ He had no idea what was in it, but he knew which side of the magical-Muggle world it was from, which made this all the more difficult. 

‘I don’t remember anyone leaving it here,’ Mark said. ‘It wasn’t here when Dudley was ruffling through them.’

‘Well alright, I’ll open it,’ said Harry. He glanced around and smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t tell my aunt.’

Mark raised his right hand. ‘Scout’s honour.’

Harry peeled back the purple package. It was a wand maintenance kit. It said just as much in big gold letters with a wand underneath it. Harry knew he needed a wand, but this actually hadn’t been on the list. Professor McGonagall or Ms Bingley weren’t the gift giving type. He also dreaded explaining this off to Mark, who was most definitely a Muggle. 

‘What is that?’ asked Mark. 

‘It’s, er, it’s shoe polish,’ Harry said. Mark raised his eyebrows. ‘For my shoes. They have a uniform there, you know.’

Mark lit up in realisation. ‘Like a Smeltings uniform?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, nothing so horrid. I just need shiny shoes at my school,’ he said. ‘Pretty sure it’s a standard uniform overall. Not a lick of orange or red anywhere.’

Mark nodded slowly. ‘But this says “Wand Maintenance Kit”. Like a magic wand,’ he waved at the label. ‘Even has one on the box.’

‘Yeah that’s the, er, company. The Wand Company,’ Harry stammered. ‘They have a wand as their logo.’

‘Very odd name for a shoe company,’ Mark said. ‘Where’d you hear about it?’

‘I think it’s Dutch or something. I’m not sure,’ Harry waved his hand dismissively. ‘One of my professors recommended it to my aunt. Hey, have you seen Rodney?’

He quietly placed the maintenance kit back in its wrap and onto the table and walked away from the table. 

Mark blinked and followed Harry. ‘No, I think his mum wanted him home early too,’ he turned to face him. ‘Listen, Harry, I know that you’re going off to a new place, but … I don’t know,’ Mark swallowed nervously. ‘It would be nice to hear from you, now and again. I’ve only been to Scotland once, you know. I’m sure me and Rodney would love to hear about it.’

Harry’s heart sank. He knew he couldn’t. ‘Er, I can’t really send emails from there,’ he said. ‘It’s sort of remote from what I understand.’

‘Oh,’ Mark frowned. ‘What about letters?’

‘Letters neither,’ Harry said quickly. He paused. ‘I don’t really know about letters, actually.’

‘Wow,’ Mark exclaimed. ‘They really don’t want you communicating with the rest of the world. Just how exclusive is this place?’

‘Very,’ drawled Harry. 

‘Well, if you ever escape the compound, you know how to get a hold of us,’ Mark said, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Is it a year-round thing?’

‘No, but…’ Harry trailed off. Another crack of Apparition came from nearby. He turned. Ms Bingley walked towards him wearing more Muggle-friendly robes and carrying a small green box. 

‘Mr Potter?’ asked Ms Bingley.

‘Ms Bingley? Hello, I didn’t expect you-’

‘Happy birthday, Mr Potter,’ she interrupted. She waved to Vernon, deep in conversation with Dudley. ‘ Is there anywhere we can speak in private?’

‘She’s from my school,’ whispered Harry to Mark. 

He nodded and smiled. ‘I’ll talk to you after, Harry.’ Mark stalked off to talk to one of the girls who’d come. 

‘Bye, Mark,’ Harry said with a little wave. Mark waved back. He turned to Ms. Bingley and took her back towards the house.

-oOo-

When he closed the door, he turned back. ‘What’s this about, Ms Bingley?’

‘Tomorrow, you will be escorted to Diagon Alley by Professor McGonagall at nine in the morning, sharp,’ she paused. Her gaze softened. ‘You will not be returning to the Dursleys tonight.’

‘Why?’ asked Harry. He glanced around the empty room to try and find an explanation. She led Harry into the living room and sat across from him. Ms Bingley wore a small frown. Harry fiddled with his hands under her gaze.

‘Harry, have you been abused?’ she asked in a quieter voice. 

Harry’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ he exclaimed, ‘By the Dursleys? I mean I guess Dudley beats on me, but that’s normal, right?’

Ms Bingley shook her head. ‘No it isn’t.’

Harry laughed a little, despite himself. ‘I know several people whose siblings, or I guess live-in cousins in this case, beat on them.’

Ms Bingley changed tacks. ‘We interviewed your school, St Grogory’s. Your cousin’s associates and the records from your Headmaster say otherwise. Your cousin’s friends have had their memories modified, but they terrorised you for years. Harry Hunting, I believe they called it.’

Harry let out a breath, releasing something he’d been holding in for a long time. ‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘It’s not normal, Harry,’ she said with finality. Harry accepted that. Dudley wasn’t normal. Nothing about Harry’s life could be.

‘But I don’t understand,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Aunt Petunia said that the school was taking me, but only to get my supplies. I thought she did mean what you’re talking about, but I did nothing wrong. Why am I being taken?’

Ms Bingley’s eyes widened. ‘So you didn’t know?’

‘Know what?’

Ms Bingley shifted in her seat. ‘Your aunt invoked the Ministry’s Child Services. Per the Muggle Rights clause in the Code of Elders, your aunt can request a magical child, you, to be placed in the care of the Ministry.’

‘How can she do that?’ Harry asked. This was all very unfair. It was outrageous. His aunt had the nerve to lie to him about kicking him out and then did it anyway? Uncle Vernon had the stones to act confused about what Harry was talking about when he knew full well that they were packing his things already?

‘Irreconcilable differences,’ Ms Bingley replied. ‘She declared that she couldn’t take care of you as a magical child. However that does not mean that you are in any way defective, Harry. ‘

‘How could it not?’ asked Harry. There was something burrowing in his stomach now, dragging him down. 

‘Most Muggles struggle with this adjustment and it’s usually solved with time. In this case, this is the best option for you, given your cousin’s behaviour.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I’ve been dealing with it. Please, don’t take me away. They’re the only family I have. I just want to go to Hogwarts and come back here. Dudley won’t be a bother. I am dealing with it.’

‘You shouldn’t have to deal with it, Mr Potter. You won’t have to deal with it any longer.’

‘It’s not fair.’

She smiled sadly. ‘I understand, dear.’

‘Where will I go?’ asked Harry.

‘Tonight you’ll be staying at the Leaky Cauldron,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow, you’ll stay with the Tonks family.’

Harry nodded. ‘I guess I need to pack, then.’

‘It’s been taken care of,’ she said.

‘Do you mind if I go back to the party? I guess I just want to say goodbye.’

Ms Bingley nodded. They went back to the park. 

-oOo-

Harry began to say farewell to his friends, saying that he had to leave early for a summer orientation. They took it better than Harry had, as he found himself tearing up by the time he got to Mark at the end of the impromptu row. 

Mark put a hand on Harry’s shoulder in support. ‘Oh it’s alright, you’ll be back by summer, right?’

Harry shook his head. His voice had failed him. Mark frowned and hugged Harry tightly. 

‘I’m sorry, Mark,’ Harry sniffed. ‘I’ll write. I’ll send postcards.’

‘Okay,’ said Mark. He smiled at Harry and let him go. 

‘Bye everyone!’ said Harry with a little wave. The last of his guests ambled out of the park after saying farewell. Harry put his gifts into a large bag slowly, methodically. Ms Bingley ended her conversation with Uncle Vernon and met Harry on the walk back. 

‘Are you ready?’

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll do it though.’

She smiled. ‘Take my arm and don’t let go.’

She held out her arm to Harry. He grabbed onto it. Ms Bingley twisted slightly and Privet Drive disappeared with a whiplike crack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a comment. Feedback helps me a ton. Thanks!


	5. Coming Home

Harry felt like he was squeezing through a very narrow water hose. His ears were ringing in horrific agony. The pressure and roar let up almost as soon as it came. Harry knew he wasn’t in Privet Drive. They were in some sort of alleyway between two brick buildings. He tottered over to one side and breathed through a sudden wave of nausea.

‘I apologise, Mr Potter,’ Ms Bingley said. ‘I must say you did rather well. Most vomit on their first side-along,’

Harry blinked and waited until he caught his breath. ‘What?’

‘Side-along Apparition,’ Ms Bingley said. ‘It’s like teleporting with another person.’

‘Oh,’ said Harry. He stood shakily. ‘I think I’m alright now.’

‘Excellent. Shall we continue?’

‘Where are we?’

‘London. Charing Cross, to be precise,’ she said. ‘The Leaky Cauldron is just around the corner.’

Harry’s gaze fell on the Leaky Cauldron, an old pub with a black storefront and ancient cauldron-shaped sign. ‘Why am I staying in a pub?’

‘It’s not a permanent arrangement,’ Bingley said quickly. ‘Come along.’

Harry followed Ms Bingley into the Leaky Cauldron. 

-oOo-

It was very large inside, which didn’t make sense with how small it was on the outside. There were gigantic latticed windows on either end, a very large fireplace (currently unlit), and hundreds of wooden tables and chairs scattered about. 

Dozens of witches and wizards, and even a woman wearing a very long hood whom Harry wasn’t sure was even human, crowded around the tables, drinking and paying neither Ms Bingley nor Harry any mind whatsoever. 

There was a wraparound bar with a set of silver taps for drinks Harry had never heard of before. A man whose face was like a toothless walnut manned the bar, levitating plates and goblets to and from the main eatery to the kitchens behind him. It was really fantastic. 

A bell tolled. A cheer went through the crowd as they took a slug from their pint glasses. Harry had no idea why. 

‘Mr Tetley, I’m here for the key for the Drummond Suite,’ said Ms Bingley. The barman put down the glass he was cleaning and glanced at Ms Bingley’s identification. 

‘Certainly,’ Mr Tetley replied. He glanced idly at Harry. ‘Good lord, is this - can this be? Bless my soul. Harry Potter… what an honour. Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back.’

Harry smiled sheepishly and shook the man’s hand. The part of the bar closest to Mr Tetley had gone quiet, and some were sneaking glances at Harry. More glances and silence came as Ms Bingley led Harry through the pub to the stairs in the back half. Most ignored the next gong. 

Ms Bingley led him up into the second floor. Harry was reminded of an extremely old-fashioned hotel he’d been to with the Dursleys. There was a long rug on the ancient plank floor, wood panelling, and dark green wallpapered walls. The doors were rounded at the top, with individual brass placards listing the room and what Harry assumed were famous guests of the room next to the handle. 

Harry followed Bingley while trying to also process the names of famous wizards on each and every door. Why was he treated like some sort of celebrity? Aunt Petunia had never told him he was famous. With a rush of bitterness, he realised that his Aunt Petunia had failed to tell him a lot about the world he was in now, and his place in it. 

At the end of the hall on the second floor, there was a large set of oak doors unlike the single doors of the other rooms. Ms Bingley turned the wide iron key Mr Tetley gave to her in the lock and opened both of the doors. 

The inside was very large and could probably fit four of his bedrooms inside. A four-post bed lay at one end on a raised platform, with a ring of couches, a coffee table, and a fireplace at the other. A bay window flanked by curved bookshelves made up the entire back half. It gave Harry a stunning view of the Thames. 

There were a few boxes at the bay window and also near the bed. Harry walked over and saw that his Doctor Duck sheets had been spread over the bed.

‘My sheets!’ exclaimed Harry.

‘Your possessions are all here. They will be transferred to your new residence tomorrow.’

Harry smiled, but frowned just as soon as he did. ‘I’m not going back to the Muggle world, am I?’

Ms Bingley shook her head. ‘Not to live, in any case,’ she said. ‘You have had a trying day. I’ll leave you to rest. As I understand it, you will also be getting visitors later on.’

‘Visitors?’ Harry asked. ‘I don’t really know anyone here.’

‘Hmm,’ Ms Bingley said with a cryptic smile. ‘Happy birthday, Mr Potter. I will see you tomorrow afternoon. Please don’t leave the room.’

Harry yawned, ‘I can do that.’

Ms Bingley nodded sharply and closed the door behind her. Harry felt very alone, and the room was very large. Harry did some exploring of the room, finding a cabinet filled with funny bottles, before he yawned again. Ms Bingley’s advice was wonderfully timed.

Though he didn’t really want to nap, the turbulence with the Dursleys and his first side-along Apparition had taken a great deal out of him. He settled in. The mattress was weird and a little crunchy. He guessed it was filled with feathers. After shifting around a bit, it became quite comfortable - more comfortable than even his bed at Privet Drive had been. 

-oOo-

Hours later, Harry awoke to a solid knock against the door. He opened his eyes and yawned again, feeling blindly for his glasses. As his feet hit the floor, the oil lamps in the room glowed to full brightness and the curtains rattled open. It was late in the afternoon. 

Harry opened the door. He smiled at Professor McGonagall on the other side, though hesitated when he saw her companion, who was more tense than a slingshot. The man wore black robes and was ready to either deliver a sermon at a funeral or shoot lightning out of hands. 

‘Harry, this is Professor Snape,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘He will be your Potions professor in the upcoming term.’

Harry nodded and gave Professor Snape a little wave. He was a little frightened.

‘Might we come in?’ she asked. Harry opened the door wider and let them come in. ‘Thank you.’ Professor McGonagall turned to Professor Snape. ‘Would you mind going to ask Tom for the dinner service, Severus?’ Professor Snape scowled, but left all the same. McGonagall went over to the sitting area by the fireplace. Harry joined her. 

‘Happy birthday,’ she said. 

‘Oh thank you,’ replied Harry. A silver pitcher and three goblets appeared on the table, which thrilled Harry. 

‘How have you settled here?’ she asked. 

‘Oh, fine, I guess,’ Harry said after a short while. ‘Ms Bingley said I’d be having guests. I didn’t really expect you and Professor Snape. I’m not in trouble, am I?’

‘Not at all,’ McGonagall said, ‘Professor Dumbledore has tasked me with telling you all you should need to know, in addition to what we covered last month. That’s why I brought Professor Snape along. Is that alright?’

‘Can’t you just tell me?’ asked Harry. Even if he wasn’t in trouble, he felt kind of awkward having dinner with two of his professors. 

‘He knows a lot about Hogwarts and our world,’ McGonagall said. After a moment, she added: ‘He also knew your mother.’

Harry’s eyes widened. ‘He did?’

Seconds later, the door opened to reveal Professor Snape. 

‘Sir, did you know my mother?’ Harry asked. Professor Snape froze in the doorway.

‘I did,’ said Professor Snape. Harry got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it, but he was so curious.

‘What was she like?’ asked Harry.

‘Kind,’ Professor Snape replied. ‘Your father-’

McGonagall fixed Professor Snape with a glare Harry was sure could kill. Professor Snape fell quiet.

She coughed. ‘Your father grew a lot during his time at Hogwarts, largely because of your mother’s and his friends’ influence.’ 

‘Oh,’ said Harry. It was clear Professor Snape and his father didn’t get along. He racked his brain for something. ‘Er, St. Grogory’s had a house system. There were three. I was in Thorple. Does Hogwarts have something like that?’

‘Yes,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘But first, would you care for a refreshment?’

‘Oh please,’ said Harry. He held his goblet by the stem out to Professor McGonagall.

‘What would you like?’ she asked.

Harry thought about it. ‘I really do like mango nectar.’

Professor McGonagall nodded and tipped the pitcher, filling Harry’s glass. ‘Severus?’

‘Cranberry,’ he replied. She filled Snape’s goblet with cranberry juice - with the same pitcher! - and he thanked her with a nod.

‘Yes, there are Houses at Hogwarts. It’s been a tradition of the school for a very long time, nearly to its founding. Each House is named after a Founder of Hogwarts. The houses gather students with similar values to each other and to the founders:

‘Gryffindor, my house, values chivalry and courage.

‘Hufflepuff is led by Professor Sprout, your Herbology professor. They value hard work and honesty.

‘Ravenclaw is led by Professor Flitwick, who will teach you Charms. They value intelligence and imagination.’

She focused on Professor Snape. ‘Slytherin is my own house,’ Professor Snape continued. ‘We value resourcefulness and… reciprocity.’

‘What’s reciprocity?’ asked Harry.

‘It means doing unto others as they do unto you,’ replied McGonagall. Harry nodded. He’d heard that one in church. 

‘Is there a test to get in? Or is it random?’ asked Harry.

‘There is no test,’ Snape said. ‘The Sorting Hat - an enchanted relic of Godric Gryffindor - will sort you based on your personality, your potential, what you value, and what you are magically adept to. This will occur when you arrive at Hogwarts.’

‘What if I’m not placed?’ Harry asked. ‘Will I be sent back to the Muggle world?’

‘Everyone is placed,’ McGonagall said. ‘Some houses do have stricter requirements than others, but in general we have had few complaints.’

‘What are the requirements?’

‘Slytherin House does not allow Muggleborn students,’ Snape said. ‘It was originally intended by our founder to preserve wizarding tradition in at least one corner of the school. In recent years, however, we have asked the hat repeatedly not to exclude them. Those efforts have failed.’

‘You can’t teach an old hat new tricks,’ joked McGonagall. 

'Am I a Muggleborn?' asked Harry.

'You are not,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Your mother was a witch born to Muggles - that’s non-magical people. Your father was a wizard born to a magical family. This makes you what some term a half-blood.'

'Does it matter whether someone is a Muggleborn or not?' asked Harry.

'Not at all,' Professor Snape said quickly. ‘Anyone who tells you that you aren’t worthy to study magic because your mother was a Muggleborn is a bigot.’ 

'Everyone is worthy to study magic,' agreed McGonagall.

‘But the hat … It doesn’t seem fair not to sort Muggleborns into Slytherin if they’re resourceful and all.’

Snape shook his head. ‘It’s a very long story.’

The door opened again. A tall wizard with a long silvery beard pushing a service cart into the room. ‘Good evening, all!’

‘Professor Dumbledore - what are you doing?’ asked McGonagall

‘Oh sparing Tom the walk,’ the man said. ‘How do you do, Mr Potter?’

‘Harry, this is Professor Dumbledore, your headmaster,’ she explained. 

Harry nodded. ‘I’m well, thank you Professor,’ Harry said. ‘I’m not in trouble, am I?’

‘Not yet,’ Dumbledore said with a small chuckle. ‘I suppose I am the one in the most trouble, having not told either Professors Snape nor McGonagall of my arrival.’

‘Nor of your sudden turn into food service,’ said Professor Snape rather icily.

‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Dumbledore. He took off the tops from the silver platters. 

Harry felt his chair move and nearly left it until he realised that he was now sitting at an end of a larger table in the room, with three other empty chairs at the other ends. The platters floated over. Harry saw roast beef wrapped in bacon, a mound of mashed potatoes, and a gravy boat. 

‘Ah, a fine spread, I should think. You of course do not mind if I join, do you?’

‘The more the merrier,’ said Harry. The three professors sat around the table. 

‘I would be remiss in not wishing you the very happiest of birthdays, Mr Potter,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Thank you, sir.’ The dishes of potatoes and roast beef put a hearty helping of both onto each plate.

‘Anyhow, I am convinced you must feel very nervous having the three of us join you for dinner,’ Dumbledore observed. Silverware grew out of the plates and landed softly on the table. 

‘No,’ said Harry weakly. Dumbledore glanced over his half-moon glasses at him. ‘Alright, a bit.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about. As it happens, we’re here to explain Quidditch!’

‘Quidditch?’ asked Harry.

Professor Snape sneered. ‘Albus, we’re not here to elucidate the many wonderful qualities-’

‘Oh nonsense!’ Professor Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. ‘The less jovial topics are reserved for the nightcap, Severus. After the dessert. I trust you remember that?’

‘Naturally.’ 

‘Magic at the table is frowned upon, Albus,’ said McGonagall. 

‘Oh I am sure Mr Potter won’t mind a breach of decorum, Minerva - surely?’ said Professor Dumbledore.

‘Excuse me, but what is Quidditch?’ asked Harry. 

‘Quidditch is the wizarding sport, like football,’ McGonagall said to Harry. ‘It’s played on broomsticks. Your father James was an excellent Quidditch player himself.’

‘How is it played?’ asked Harry. 

Dumbledore quickly put down his fork and took out his wand. He created a small model of an oval-shaped pitch with a mid-yard line and three goalposts at each end. The model floated over to Harry and hovered over his mash. 

‘Quidditch is easy enough to understand,’ McGonagall said, ‘Even if it’s not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.’ 

‘Three Chasers,’ Harry repeated. Six broomstick riders in pink or white robes materialised on the pitch. Dumbledore then conjured a bright red ball about the size of a football.

‘This ball’s called the Quaffle,’ said Dumbledore. 

McGonagall shrunk down the ball to be in scale to the six riders. ‘The Chasers throw the Quaffle to themselves and try and get it through one of the hoops to score ten points.’ she continued.

‘The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,’ Harry recited. The six players passed the ball around. One white-robed chaser made a goal on the pink team’s goal. ‘So – that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?’ 

Professor Snape nodded. ‘It is a fair comparison.’

‘Now’ McGonagall said. ‘There’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper. They have to fly around their team’s hoops and stop the other team from scoring.’ 

Dumbledore conjured an additional player for each side who wore far more padding than the other two. The white-robed keeper blocked a Quaffle shot with his fist, catapulting it to the other side of the pitch. 

‘Three Chasers, one Keeper,’ Harry said, ‘OK, got that.’ It was quite a lot to keep track of. 

Dumbledore then conjured two identical balls that were jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. They jerked around in the air. ‘These are Bludgers. The Bludgers rocket around trying to knock players off their brooms.” The bludgers shrunk down and began to attack one of the pink-robed chasers. ‘That’s why you have two Beaters on each team.’ Dumbledore conjured two additional players wearing the most padding of any other team member. ‘It is their duty to defend their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them towards the other team.’ 

‘Three Chasers try to score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goalposts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team,’ Harry reeled off. ‘Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?’ Harry asked.

‘Never at Hogwarts,’ Snape said. ‘We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that.’

‘Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker,’ McGonagall continued. Dumbledore conjured two more players who wore less padding than the Chasers as well as a ball about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings. 

‘The Golden Snitch, the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. They’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra thirty points.’

‘When does the game end?’ Harry asked. 

‘It ends after an hour,’ said Professor Dumbledore. ‘The game is split into thirty minute halves and whoever scores the most points wins the game, naturally.’

‘What happens to the Seeker after they catch the Snitch?’ asked Harry.

‘They switch roles and become an additional Chaser for their team,’ replied McGonagall.

‘Well as much as this is a  _ thrilling  _ recollection of our most treasured sport,’ Snape stood and placed his napkin on the edge of his empty plate. ‘I must say that I am quite ready to retire.’ McGonagall vanished the illusion over Harry’s plate.

‘Can I not tempt you with some exquisite apple cobbler? Perhaps a sherry?’ asked Dumbledore.

‘Certainly not - might I be excused?’ said Professor Snape tersely. Dumbledore nodded with some disappointment. ‘A pleasant evening to you all.’

‘Good night, Professor Snape,’ Harry said. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

Snape nodded sharply and left. As he did, the table shifted into a triangular shape, and Harry once again held on tightly to avoid being thrown off.

‘Isn’t that just a delightful charm,’ remarked Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t agree less. He didn’t like being jostled around by a chair that could walk. The rest of the dinner was eaten in relative silence, though occasionally Dumbledore did ask Harry about his Muggle school and other things like that. 

When they all finished, Dumbledore waved his hand. The remains of roast beef and mash disappeared and the dishes stacked themselves onto the service cart. 

‘Now we come to the main event,’ Dumbledore said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. ‘Do you mind if we avail yourself of your wonderful lounge, Mr Potter?’

‘Sure,’ said Harry. The three of them went to the sitting area, and the couches reappeared. 

‘Lemon drop?’ offered Dumbledore. He had pulled out a small bag and offered them to both McGonagall and Harry. Harry accepted. McGonagall declined. The lemon drop, though Harry had never had one, was great.

‘No doubt when you arrived you were noticed. Stared at, even,’ said Dumbledore.

‘I was. I don’t understand why,’ said Harry. 

‘It has everything to do with how you got that scar,’ Dumbledore said. ‘What do you know, and forgive me for bringing it up, about your parents’ death?’

‘Their deaths? - They died in a car crash. People die of those every day.’

‘That is what your aunt and uncle told you, no doubt?’ Dumbledore asked. ‘It is very rare for a witch and wizard to die in a car crash, much less drive a car.’

‘Well, how did they die then?’ asked Harry. 

‘If you’d rather not hear it from us, we would both understand,’ said Professor McGonagall. 

He supposed one of the ways he could distance himself from the Dursleys was crushing one of their biggest lies to him, which had always been that his parents had died in a car crash. He knew he was famous for whatever story he hadn’t yet been told.

‘I think I can handle it,’ he said. 

‘Where should we begin, Albus?’ asked Professor McGonagall to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore hummed. ‘I suppose from the beginning. Mr Potter I must tell you now that what we are about to say is very much a taboo subject,’ he said. ‘I would appreciate it gratefully if you would keep this knowledge to yourself for the time being.’

Harry was confused. What was so bad about his parents’ deaths?

‘In magic, as well as life, there are light and dark, that which we understand and that which we don’t. In the case of magic, which can turn desks into pigs and owls into a national mail service, there is what we deem dark magic. Dark magic twists and destroys. Now it may be used for good purposes, but it is inherently corrupting. 

‘Where most magic causes fatigue or can backfire if used improperly, the mysterious uses of dark magic are far more potent, and its mishaps far more dangerous to endure. It is crucial you understand this.’

‘I understand,’ said Harry. 

‘There was an individual who went by the name of Lord Voldemort,’ Professor Dumbledore continued. ‘He pushed the boundaries of Dark Magic far beyond any before him.’

‘Did he do it on purpose?’ asked Harry.

‘Oh yes,’ Dumbledore nodded. ‘His knowledge was vast and very purposeful. Voldemort possessed goals few could truly comprehend. Minerva can explain more.’

‘Do you remember, Mr Potter, the conversation we had about Muggleborns?’ she asked. 

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘You two said it didn’t matter if I was half-blood or a Muggleborn, that anyone who was able to cast magic was worthy to learn it.’

‘That is quite an admirable sentiment,’ Dumbledore said with a slight smile. 

‘Yes, well,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘V-Voldemort believed differently from you or I, differently than most, including your parents. He wished to purge Muggleborns and half-bloods from Wizarding Britain, to kill them all. Eventually, he would have conquered the Muggle world as well. His reign of terror lasted for twenty years.’

‘Twenty years?’ Harry said. He was shocked. 

‘Yes, twenty,’ Professor Dumbledore said. ‘It only truly escalated in the last five years, however. Many witches and wizards believed in his cause, and many more were hoodwinked into joining by their parents or the propaganda.’

‘What about my parents?’ asked Harry. ‘Surely they didn’t join him.’

‘ _ Heavens _ no,’ McGonagall said. ‘Your parents were powerful magic users themselves, though try as V-Voldemort might, he could not recruit your parents to his cause.’ She paused to collect herself. ‘Your parents went into hiding since they were targeted, though they were betrayed to Voldemort in the end.’

‘How did I survive?’ asked Harry.

‘That is yet another million Galleon question, Mr Potter,’ Professor Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Hardly anyone survives a direct hit of the Killing Curse, yet you are famous for that very reason. Your scar is what people will know you by, as no doubt you have been today.’

‘ _ That’s _ why I’m famous?’ Harry asked.

‘Like it or not, you did stop the war,’ McGonagall said. ‘You’re in books, plays…’

‘I believe there was even an opera,’ said Dumbledore wryly. Harry sucked in a breath.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Harry said. ‘I really can’t. There’s no way that anyone would want to be famous for something so horrible.’

‘Yes, but it was miraculous, Mr Potter. People go gaga for a good miracle,’ said McGonagall. 

‘Don’t famous people… I don’t know, get fan mail?’ asked Harry. ‘Not that I want fan mail,’ he added quickly, ‘I just thought it was the thing to do, you know?’

Dumbledore’s face fell. Harry fiddled idly with his hands, unsure of what it meant. ‘That brings us to the second bit of business, Harry.

‘Before your parents died, they made a will. They wanted for you to be taken care of, of course, and named two individuals whom they trusted above all to take the job. Unfortunately, they became casualties themselves, if not in death then in incapacity.

‘There was… only one option.’ Dumbledore paused. ‘The Dursleys.’

‘They kicked me out. They don’t want me anymore,’ said Harry. He didn’t really want to talk about it.

‘It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with their prejudices, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. 

‘I don’t have family anymore, do I?’ Harry asked. ‘I mean, I know that my parents are gone, but what about their parents, or cousins or something?’

‘There were only the Dursleys,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘Voldemort wiped out your family as he did so many others.’

Harry nodded. He’d expected that. ‘Well I can’t stay here forever, can I? Ms Bingley said this was a temporary thing.’

Dumbledore nodded. ‘It is. Tomorrow, you will meet your foster family.’

‘Alright,’ said Harry. Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. 

‘I know just what this situation calls for,’ said Dumbledore. He took something out of his pocket and offered it to Harry. It was a pentagon-shaped box in purple and gold. Harry took it. 

‘What is it?’

‘A Chocolate Frog,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I should warn you that the frogs are animated.’

‘Animated?’ Harry asked. ‘With a charm?’

‘Precisely,’ McGonagall replied. ‘I’d grab it quickly before it runs off.’

Harry opened the box as if he were trying to defuse a bomb. He quickly grabbed the frog as it tried to hop free and quickly bit off its head like Dudley had with his chocolate bunny last Easter. The thing turned to solid chocolate and Harry ate it. He picked up the frog and found a card depicting Professor Dumbledore, glasses and all.

‘Oh hey!’ said Harry. ‘It’s you.’

‘Every frog comes with a famous wizard card. As a famous wizard myself, it was my honour to be amongst the ranks of chocolate frog cards.’

Harry laughed and turned the card over to read the inscription.

_ Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts.  _

_ Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times,  _

_ Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945,  _

_ for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood and his work on alchemy with his partner,  _

_ Nicolas Flamel.  _

_ Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling. _

‘An inspired inscription,’ said McGonagall wryly. 

‘Thank you,’ said Harry. ‘Do I have a card?’

‘You used to. However no one had a current photograph of you, so they discontinued it.’

‘Oh good,’ said Harry. He placed the card back into the box and placed it onto the table. 

‘There was another thing,’ McGonagall reminded Dumbledore.

‘Ah yes,’ the headmaster said. He took out a pine box with a flaming jug surrounded by a wreath of vines carved into it. ‘Tomorrow you will be visiting your personal vault at Gringotts, but this is from your family’s main vault.’

‘What is it?’ Harry asked. He took the box. It didn’t have a way to open it when Dumbledore held it, but it nevertheless opened at his touch.

‘It’s a family ring,’ McGonagall said. ‘Your family largely strayed from many Pureblood traditions, but this one they kept. It was your father’s and his father’s before his.’

Harry picked up the silver ring from the red velvet cushion it sat on. The engraving had the same flaming jug surrounded by a wreath of vines, but also had a wand underneath the jug and the words  _ Semper Prorsus _ to either side of it.

‘What does “semper prorsus” mean?’ asked Harry.

‘Always forward,’ replied Dumbledore. ‘It is your family’s motto.’

Harry liked that. He now had a piece of his family that he could take with him to Hogwarts. He slipped on the ring. It shrunk to fit his finger but still was off, like Harry had put the wrong shoe on. 

‘I believe you are supposed to wear it on your left pinky,’ said Dumbledore quietly.

Harry switched where the ring was. He instantly felt a tingling sensation travel up his arm. The box closed itself and disappeared with a slight shimmer. 

‘What was that?’ asked Harry. He wiggled his hand and the tingling stopped.

‘Family magic is ancient,’ Dumbledore said. ‘It is far too great a subject for us to delve into now. Suffice to say, you are a true Potter now.’

Harry smiled sadly at his ring. ‘Thank you both.’

‘Our pleasure,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Now I’m afraid it is time we take our leave from you. Good night, Mr Potter.’

‘Good night, Mr Potter,’ McGonagall said.

‘Good night, Professors,’ said Harry. They closed Harry’s door behind them. 

Harry inspected his ring for a little while, not sure why he’d like it as much as he did. Usually he wouldn’t be too fond of wearing jewellery. Yet it was a little part of his family that wasn’t the Dursleys. This day had been very weird. He began it believing that he’d be going to Hogwarts at the Dursleys, turning Dudley into a toad and keeping up with his friends at Stonewall. Now he knew he’d probably never visit or hear from the Dursleys or his friends ever again. 

He felt alone. He was famous in this new world but he didn’t want to be. His parents were dead. His friends were all but dead too. His last living relatives had thrown him out. Dumbledore said it was because they were prejudiced. It didn’t really matter why they did it, only that they did. Some part of him wanted nothing more than for Ms Bingley to modify his memory and seal his magic so he could go back to being just Harry.

It wasn’t going to happen. He was going to be a great wizard to prove the Dursleys wrong and to honour his parents’ memories. His fame might be a problem, but maybe at long last he wouldn’t be second best to anyone. He certainly didn’t feel second best.

It might have been a strange birthday, but it turned out to be the best Harry had ever had. 

-oOo-

The next morning, Ms Bingley returned to Harry’s room. Today was the day Harry would finally leave his room and get to see the rest of the world and to meet his foster family. The maid had brought him a copy of the Daily Prophet free of charge. When he thanked her for it, she blushed and thanked  _ him _ . It was very odd and kind of embarrassing. Harry didn’t understand a lot about the paper but enjoyed the comics and moving pictures tremendously. 

‘Good morning, Ms Bingley,’ Harry greeted. He put down the paper. 

‘Good morning, Mr Potter,’ she replied. ‘Today’s the day!’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry with a slight smile. 

‘Have you eaten?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Oh good,’ Ms Bingley said. ‘Your foster family wished to have you over for breakfast.’

‘Oh really?’ asked Harry. 

‘Yes. We’ll be taking the Floo network today to their house,’ Ms Bingley said. ‘Now, with a pinch of floo powder and a fireplace, you can go almost anywhere in Britain if they are also connected to the network.

‘When you enter, you must speak your destination very clearly or otherwise you’ll get lost. When you feel the spinning stop, you must step forward or you will fall face-first wherever you end up.’

Harry nodded. He supposed it was easy enough. 

‘What about my stuff?’

‘It will be waiting for you at their home after you return from Diagon Alley.’

Ms Bingley led him to a gargoyle on the mantelpiece with a slot in the middle of its chest. Below that read ‘Floo Powder, 3Kn’. Bingley slipped three bronze coins and held out her hand. A 50-pea sized pile of greyish-green powder dispensed from the gargoyle’s mouth into her hand. 

‘These are Knuts,’ she explained, holding out one of the bronze coins. ‘They’re like pence. There’s a hundred bronze Knuts into a silver Sickle and five sickles into a gold Galleon.’

She handed Harry three Knuts. He slotted them in and held out his hand. The powder spewed out of the gargoyle’s mouth.

‘Don’t drop it,’ she warned. ‘Would you like to go first?’ Harry nodded hesitantly. ‘Alright, you want 15 Clay Lane, Lavenham. Repeat that please, then throw the powder into the grate.’

Harry stood in the fireplace. ‘15 Clay Lane, Lavenham!’ he exclaimed. 

He threw the powder into the grate and was engulfed in a green flame. This took him by surprise. The room faded away and he saw a rush of other hearths flying by. He closed his eyes. When he felt the spinning beginning to stop, he stuck out a leg. With a whoosh of air, he landed on the other side, stumbling, falling, and hacking up a bit of ash. 

He opened his eyes.

-oOo-

Sitting on the couch were three of the most normal wizards Harry had seen so far. There was a fair-haired man with a potbelly wearing cargo shorts and a hawaiian shirt, a rather beautiful woman with high cheekbones and black hair in a summer dress, and a girl who couldn’t have been much older than him with neon yellow hair and a Queen t-shirt.

‘Wotcher, Harry!’ the girl said. 

The man leapt from the couch. ‘Let’s get you up, son,’ he said. Harry thanked him. ‘Ted Tonks, nice to meet you. This is my wife Andromeda and our daughter Nymphadora.’

‘Don’t call me Nymphadora,’ said Nymphadora sweetly. Andromeda glanced at her daughter disapprovingly. 

‘Welcome to our home,’ Andromeda said with a smile. ‘I suspect you’ll want breakfast first thing. Then we can take a walk.’

Harry nodded. Nymphadora - or whatever she wanted to be called - jumped up and down and ran to her bedroom, knocking over an elegant end table and nearly conking herself out on the doorway leading up the stairs. Harry sort of stood awkwardly. The fireplace flashed green, and Ms Bingley came through.

‘Caroline! Welcome back,’ said Ted. 

‘Just here to say a quick goodbye to Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘And a very good first go at the Floo, I must say.’

Harry blushed. ‘Thanks.’

‘Anyhow, if something should come up that I can assist you with, please don’t hesitate to owl- er, you’ll show him how to send a letter, right?’ Ted nodded. ‘Right, owl me and I’ll be sure to get to it as soon as I can.’ She handed Harry her card.

‘Thank you, Ms Bingley.’

‘Any time. Take care, Edward,’ said Ms Bingley, waving. She dipped into the hearth and yelled ‘Ministry of Magic!’. She whirled around and out of sight. 

‘Now then, shall we?’ Ted said. Harry followed him into the kitchen. ‘Andy wasn’t sure what you liked, so naturally she cooked enough for an army.’

‘Naturally,’ said Andromeda with an indulgent smile. She placed four omelettes on a big blue plate. There was a bit of everything: bacon, sausage, crumpets and muffins with two different sorts of jam, the omelettes, corned beef hash, a big bowl of baked beans, roasted tomatoes, and sliced black pudding. Nymphadora tore through the kitchen and sat down. 

‘Good god, mum, you’re not planning on us eating all of this, are you?’

‘Of course, Nymphadora, we’re going to eat all of it. Might even have some of it for lunch.’

‘I thought we were going to Prestham’s for lunch.’

‘We’re going to Diagon Alley after our tour, ladies. Mr Potter here needs his supplies. Oh, that reminds me. There’s a package on the landing for you, Harry.’

‘So that’s who it was for!’ Nymphadora exclaimed. ‘Nearly killed me. Looked like it was wrapped nice though.’

‘Wrapped  _ nicely _ , dear,’ said Andromeda. Nymphadora stuck out her tongue. 

-oOo-

Harry went back into the living room and investigated where Nymphadora had tripped. There was a squashy parcel wrapped in purple tissue paper. Attached to it was a small note envelope signed with narrow, loopy writing. 

_ Your father left this in my possession before he died.  _

_ It is time it was returned to you.  _

_ Use it well.  _

_ A very Happy Birthday to you. _

‘Who is it from?’ asked Harry. He examined the object through the tear Nymphadora had made through it. 

‘No idea,’ Ted said as he sat down. ‘It came through the post.’

Harry opened the parcel and took out the object. It was made of fluid-like, silvery grey fabric that gleamed in the sunlight. He took it back into the kitchen.‘What is it?’

‘Looks to me like an Invisibility cloak,’ Andromeda said. ‘A really nice one at that.’

‘Can I try it on? After you, of course,’ said Nymphadora. Harry nodded and put it over his shoulders. To his delight he was invisible from the neck down. 

‘Impressive!’ Ted exclaimed. ‘Don’t think you want to get jam on it though.’

‘First day and we already lost his body,’ Nymphadora sighed mournfully. ‘We’re the absolute worst.’

Harry giggled and took off the invisibility cloak, folding it up and placing it on the landing. Nymphadora got up.

‘Not now, dear,’ Ted said. ‘Your mother made breakfast and I intend to eat it. That is, if there’s any space left for my plate.’

Nymphadora sighed again. Andromeda chuckled and placed four cups and a tea set on the edge of the table. It was true: the Tonkses’ table was absolutely stuffed. Harry found his favorite hidden amongst the tea bags in the tin.

‘Tuck in!’ said Ted. Harry helped himself to breakfast. ‘So Harry, what have you seen so far?’

‘Just the Leaky Cauldron.’

‘Really?’ Ted said. ‘Didn’t go into the Alley at all?’

‘Didn’t have a chance to yet,’ said Harry.

‘Just means we’ll have to spend more time there,’ Nymphadora said. ‘I can show you all my favourite shops.’

Harry smiled. ‘Alright.’

‘First though, we’ll take a quick look in town. Not much to see, but you still ought to see it. Maybe the shop, then the guildhall and the church.’

‘Oh but that’s so boring,’ Nymphadora said. ‘I want to take him to Gambol and Japes-’

‘Dora, there’s plenty of time for that,’ said Ted. ‘Your mother and I took the day off.’

‘So…’ Harry began using one of Uncle Vernon’s favorite questions. ‘What do you all do for a living?’

Andromeda smiled indulgently. ‘I’m a Healer. Ted works at his family store, and Nymphadora-’

‘Mum, please-’

‘-is an Auror trainee.’

‘What’s an Auror?’ asked Harry.

‘A sort of policeman,’ Nymphadora said. ‘I’m there to kick ass-’

‘Dora, language,’ said Ted.

Andromeda coughed. ‘Yes, well, she is still in training. When are you finished with it?’

‘With any luck, around Christmas. I’ll have a trench coat and everything!’

‘I don’t think that’s the point of it,’ said Ted pointedly.

‘Well it’s certainly a bonus,’ said Nymphadora. She beamed at Harry, who chuckled nervously.

‘Where’s your store?’ asked Harry.

‘Oh, Bethnal Green. It’s a flower shop.’

‘That’s…’ Harry thought about it. ‘A long way.’

‘Not with Floo powder,’ Ted said. ‘I had a private one put in that links our house to it. Dead useful.’

The conversation turned to places they wanted to go on the Floo Network. Harry found out there were international hubs in Blackpool and Dover, and that the Tonkses used to vacation in Marseille before Nymphadora’s sixth year. Nymphadora, or Dora, Harry supposed, had to sit her Ordinary Wizarding Levels in fifth year and her Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests in seventh, which didn’t give her much time for anything except for studying. Harry wasn’t looking forward to them. 

-oOo-

After breakfast, the Tonkses showed Harry around their home. It was a simple two-storey, but was very unlike the Dursleys. For one thing, the laundry was folding itself in the laundry room by the mudroom. For another, some of the smaller photos on the walls were moving. The daisies on the yellow wallpaper in the living room would sway in a nonexistent breeze every now and again. It was fantastic. 

Dora let him glimpse her bedroom, which was plastered with different posters of Muggle and wizarding rock and punk bands, with an old-fashioned record player, a drum set, and bright yellow sheets. 

Ted was very proud of his garden. He had a small greenhouse filled with magical plants as well as a few beds with more normal plants. Andromeda used all of these for potions. Harry’s favorite plant so far was the Cooing Camomile, which made cute baby-like noises as they passed. 

Andromeda showed off her small potions lab in the basement. Like the rest of the house, it was spick-and-span. It had a large sink, three cauldrons, and a gaggle of drying racks and storage shelves. Potions was a mix between cooking and chemistry, which Harry wasn’t sure if he would’ve liked in Muggle school or not. 

They then cycled into town without Dora, as she had to go off to Auror training. Andromeda had scolded her gently for forgetting that crucial detail. Ted demonstrated the enchantments his good friend Arthur Weasley had placed on the bicycles that made the tyres treat mud like regular concrete. They saw the guildhall, the church, and Harry was pulled through the Floo Network again to tour Ted’s flower shop in the East End before coming back to the living room. 

‘And there you have it,’ said Ted finally with a dramatic flourish. ‘Our world!’

‘You’re welcome to it,’ finished Andromeda with a small smile. 

Harry glanced around the cozy living room and at the two of them and felt tears welling up. He lunged at them and hugged them both. 

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

It really felt like he was coming home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Anything you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I think there's a little from a lot of the chapters.


	6. A Chance Encounter

Harry, Ted, and Andromeda exited the Floo. They had come at last to Diagon Alley, a wide road with hundreds of witches and wizards milling about in front of him. Harry gulped. He wasn’t prepared for something like this in the slightest. Ted put a hand on his shoulder. 

‘C’mon, they won’t mob you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘We’ll just go up to the bank, Andromeda said, ‘Professor McGonagall is waiting for you with your key.’

As Harry walked with the Tonkses, there were a lot of eyes on him. People began to whisper. Harry felt nervous. He didn’t like the attention already. Some stopped them on their way, and the Tonkses had to politely tell them off for bothering Harry. As more and more came, however, Harry found himself shaking hands with a lot of different people. 

Andromeda took out her wand and shot out golden sparks that got everyone’s attention. 

‘For the love of God, let us pass!’ she barked. ‘He’s a boy, not a unicorn!’

Ted put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and guided him through the crowd, who parted well enough for them to pass. Harry didn’t get as good a look as he wanted at all the shops. 

‘Thanks,’ Harry mumbled. Ted patted his shoulder and kept moving. 

-oOo-

At the very end of the street was a gleaming white building made out of marble. A pair of large wooden doors stood to the outside, with two goblins in black uniforms guarding both sides of it. 

As Harry and the Tonkses entered, they bowed. Harry bowed back, much to their surprise. He turned and went inside. There was a second pair of doors, this time made of silver. Harry read an inscription:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry gulped. He wasn’t planning about stealing anything, but nevertheless finding more than treasure beneath a bank wasn’t too great in Harry’s book. 

‘Gringotts is one of the safest places in Magical Britain, along with Hogwarts,’ Andromeda said as an explanation. ‘You would be ill-advised to steal from it.’

The doors opened to let them pass. Inside, the main teller hall was also made out of marble. There was a vast pattern on the tile floor, of what Harry couldn’t make out. Goblins and wizards alike worked to count coins, measure out gold bars the size of paving stones, and rubies the size of Harry’s fist.

‘We’ll be taking care of some business while you’re with Professor McGonagall,’ Ted said. ‘We’ll be next to the doors waiting for you.’

Harry couldn’t see McGonagall through all these people. ‘Where is she?’

Andromeda pointed with her head. Harry followed her gaze to the top counter, where Professor McGonagall was in line. Harry thanked them and rushed over to McGonagall, joining her.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘I just have one bit of business for Hogwarts to attend to when we’re down there.’ 

They waited in the queue for a little bit. The wizard at the counter was using a quill to write in a very large leather bound ledger. 

‘Good morning,’ McGonagall said. ‘I would like to take Mr Potter here to his personal vault, and I also have Hogwarts business,’ she took out a bronze key and a small letter. ‘Here’s a letter from the Headmaster.’

The teller opened the letter and walked over to one of his superiors. He showed the letter to them and came back.

‘Mr Griphook will assist you to your vaults, if that is amenable,’ the wizard said. Minerva nodded sharply. 

A goblin in a black Gringotts uniform approached them. He was about a head shorter than Harry, with large pointed ears and long fingers tipped in claws. He looked like an alien to Harry, but he knew it would be impolite to stare. McGonagall, Harry, and Griphook the goblin exited the main hall.

‘What’s in the Hogwarts vault?’ asked Harry quietly. 

‘I can’t answer that, Harry,’ McGonagall said. ‘It’s best if you keep our journey there to yourself as well.’

Griphook led them through a passage and came near a cart on a long track. The track dipped away, out of a round hole, and descended into a cavern far beyond what was possible. 

‘Are we… getting in?’

‘If you want to see your vault, yes,’ said McGonagall. 

Harry gulped and entered the cart. McGonagall told Griphook where they were going and they stepped inside as well. The goblin tapped the side of the cart and it shot down the tracks. Harry closed his eyes, afraid he was going to be sick. The joyride continued, and Harry opened his eyes briefly and caught a glimpse of what must have been a pale dragon.

‘There aren’t dragons here, are there?’ asked Harry.

‘Only in the lower vaults,’ answered McGonagall. 

When they finally stopped, they did so in front of a metal door as big around as Harry was tall, with a keyhole to one side and a large wheel handle in the centre. Professor McGonagall turned Harry’s key in the lock while Griphook turned the wheel. With a slow groan of the metal hinges and a puff of green mist, Harry’s vault opened.

Inside were piles and piles of coins of every sort. Little bronze Knuts in small piles, Sickles that caught the torchlight and shone like a silver forest fire, and Galleons that covered the ground like large sunny beetles and rose to the top of the vault like golden vines. 

‘This is a fair bit,’ Harry said ‘Wow. Er, how much is it?’

‘Oh, about- Mr. Griphook, what would you say?’

‘According to our records,’ Griphook conjured a clipboard and glanced at it,’ You have a grand total of seven hundred and forty-five thousand galleons, one thousand Sickles, and fifteen-hundred Knuts, sir. A large sum has been transferred here recently from our Muggle branch, collected from unspent child support it seems.’

‘Wow,’ Harry said faintly. ‘Rather a lot, really. Thank you.’

Griphook cocked his head to one side. McGonagall fished in her carpet bag and brought out a leather pouch the size of a grapefruit. ‘This should do it.’

‘We’re not fitting all of _that_ in there, are we?’ asked Harry.

‘Certainly not,’ she said, ‘Just enough for your books and other such things, and perhaps a little more for spending. A thousand Galleons, perhaps?’

Harry was dizzy just picturing trying to lug that bag around. Griphook waved his hand and what Harry guessed to be a thousand Galleons went into Minerva’s bag. She handed it to Harry effortlessly. Harry wondered at how light the bag was. Either it was magic or the coins were mostly air. 

Griphook closed the vault again, and Minerva gave Harry his vault key. He placed it within the bag. 

‘Where to, ma’am?’ asked Griphook. 

‘Vault Seven-Hundred and Thirteen,’ Minerva said. Griphook bowed sharply and turned back to the cart.

With another tap, they launched back up the track. Griphook slammed his hand onto the cart, causing it to switch to another track rapidly. Harry loved it, the fear he’d felt was gone completely. They hurtled forward, the narrow track taking them over a ravine. The track shifted and they catapulted downwards, coming to rest at Vault 713. 

They approached the door, which was far larger and shaped like a set of doors rather than a standard round one. Griphook slid his talon-like finger over the door. There was a click and a whirr of some unseen machinery in quick succession. Harry waited expectantly, hoping to catch a glimpse something even grander than his inheritance. Maybe there was a little world in here, or a massive cavern filled with treasures untold. Maybe there was a dragon!

Harry was wrong. The door opened to a bare vault with a small plinth in the centre. On top of it was a tiny pouch. 

Minerva quickly picked up the pouch and placed it within a small furry purse within her bag. She stared down her nose at Harry, the meaning very clear. Whatever this was, it was _very_ important and ought not to be spoken of. 

He wondered what the package was. 

What could be so important to hide on its own in a very large vault?

-oOo-

After rocketing back to the surface, Harry bowed to Griphook and thanked him. Griphook glanced around quickly before giving Harry a quick bow in return. The other wizards stared blandly onward The Tonkses talked a bit with McGonagall, and she went on her way. 

Harry glanced over his supply list once more: 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

First years will require:

**UNIFORM**

One to three sets of Hogwarts robes (standard)

One to two long-sleeved button-down shirts (white)

One to two Hogwarts cardigan or zip jumpers (your choice; standard)

One to two pairs of trousers or skirts (black)

One to two Hogwarts neckties (standard)

One pair of closed-toed shoes (black)

One belt (black)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) 

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags. Work clothes are recommended.

**SET BOOKS**

All students should have a copy of each of the following: 

_A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

 _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

 _The Warlock’s Astronomical Guide_ by Altair Starman

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

 _The Standard Book of Spells_ (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

**OPTIONAL BOOKS**

All Muggle-raised (non-Magical) students will be automatically enrolled in the _Introduction to Wizardry_ course. Copies of the additional books are available though are limited. 

_A Primer in British Wizarding Law and the Statute of Secrecy_ by Hector Gamp, Lord Gamp

 _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ by Jorgan Brightspark

 _Minima: An Introduction to Latin_ by Corvinus Biggleton

 _Quidditch Through the Ages_ by Kennilworthy Whisp

 _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ by Beedle the Bard (English Version)

**OTHER EQUIPMENT**

1 backpack, satchel, or rucksack

1 set brass scales

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 

1 phial stand, standard

1 sextant

1 standard calligraphy set (quill feathers, pen knife, parchment, bottles of ink)

1 standard potions kit

1 standard-sized trunk

1 wand

Students may also bring a small non-magical pet as well, such as an owl, cat, or toad.

_Parents are reminded that First Years are not allowed their own broomsticks!_

‘Are you sure I can’t have my own broomstick?’ asked Harry.

‘I am so sure, I would bet my last Galleon on it,’ Andromeda answered . Harry was a little disappointed. ‘Books first, or robes?’

‘I’ll go for robes first,’ Harry said. ‘It shouldn’t be that involved, right?’ 

Andromeda chortled. Harry scratched his neck and focused intently on the ground. ‘I’m kidding. It’s very easy,’ she said. Harry was relieved.

‘Alright, I can get your books and Andromeda can go with you to the fitting of death,’ said Ted with an easy smile. ‘See you both back here.’

Andromeda and Harry went into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. There were a lot of dress forms and floating needles and bobbins of thread. There was a woman in mauve behind the counter rolling scarlet-and-gold ties around a wheel.

‘Hogwarts, dear?’ the witch asked.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Harry said.

‘Very good,’ the witch replied. ‘There’s a boy getting fitted up just now. If you’d just wait outside, ma’am.’

Andromeda nodded and took a seat by the fitting room. Harry followed the witch inside. 

-oOo-

A boy with nearly-white blond hair and a pale pointed face stood on a stool while a seamstress pinned a Hogwarts robe on him. The witch in mauve stood Harry up on his own stool and began the process of fitting his robe on him.

‘Hello there,’ the boy said. Harry smiled at him.

‘Hi,’ Harry said. ‘Hogwarts too, I’m guessing?’

‘Yes,’ the boy said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘My family has gone to Hogwarts for generations.’

‘So have mine,’ Harry said. ‘Well, at least my parents did.’

‘Really?’ the boy said, suddenly very interested in Harry. Harry peered into the boy’s grey eyes and quickly glanced away at a Celestina Warbeck poster, whomever that was. 

‘Yeah,’ said Harry. His mouth was suddenly dry.

‘What family are you from? I’m a Malfoy of course, Draco Malfoy. Charmed.’ He reached over and shook Harry’s hand vigorously. ‘My father says that we are one of the oldest and noblest houses in Britain, stretching all the way back to an armsman in the army of William the Conqueror.’

‘Oh, very nice,’ Harry said. ‘I’m Harry.’

‘Harry?’ Draco repeated. He puzzled it over for a moment. ‘Is it short for Harold? Henry perhaps?’

‘Just Harry,’ Harry said. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Draco to know he was famous just yet. It was then that Draco glanced at the ring Harry was wearing, and the scar on his forehead.

‘A Potter? Harry Potter?’ Draco gawped at him. ‘You- My father will hear about this!’

‘Oh please, don’t.’

‘What- why?’ Draco focused sharply at him. ‘Surely you _must_ know who my father is.’

‘Er, no, sorry. I’m new to all of this. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just want a little privacy is all.’

‘Oh,’ Draco said. ‘Well I can understand that. It’s so wonderful that I got to meet you.’

Harry smiled. ‘Thanks, Draco.’

‘Alright, all finished, dear,’ said the witch pinning Draco’s robe. He quickly took off the robe and handed it down to her. 

‘I’ll wait for you, if you want,’ said Draco. He sat on a bench. ‘Are your _guardians_ about?’

He must mean the Dursleys. ‘Yes, but I’m with a wizarding family now.’

‘Oh really?’ said Draco. 

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘Do you like Quidditch?’

‘Do I ever?’ Draco said. Thankfully, he didn’t notice the topic change. ‘Father said I simply must try out for the Quidditch team when I can. Second year can’t come soon enough.’

‘What position?’ asked Harry. 

‘Seeker,’ Draco breathed. His eyelashes were fluttering dramatically. ‘Or Chaser, I suppose. What about yourself?’

‘I’m not too sure. I haven’t had the best experience with sports,’ Harry said. That was putting it mildly. He also didn’t fancy getting his teeth knocked out by a bludger. 

‘Pity,’ Draco said, his tone flat. ‘Do you know what House you want to be in?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Harry said. ‘I’d like to keep an open mind.’

‘Watch The Boy Who Lived be sorted into Hufflepuff,’ Draco snorted derisively. ‘That’ll be a sight.’

‘What about you?’ asked Harry.

‘Slytherin, of course. All of my family has been in Slytherin, pretty much. I suppose if I’m not in Slytherin I’d just leave. Father did want me to go to Durmstrang.’

‘What about your mother?’ asked Harry. 

‘She said Hogwarts or nothing,’ Draco said. He frowned. ‘Oh, but you simply _must_ ask the Hat to put you in Slytherin. You will, won’t you?’

Harry chuckled. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Draco smirked. ‘Good.’

‘All done, Mr Potter,’ said the witch in mauve. Harry stepped off of the stool and handed her his robe.

-oOo-

Draco followed Harry out. ‘I don’t suppose you could wait a moment while I go find my parents? I’m sure they’d be thrilled to meet you.’

Harry motioned to Andromeda. She smiled briefly, which quickly vanished when she saw Draco.

‘Hi Andromeda, this is Draco. Do you mind if I go meet his parents?’

Andromeda smiled again. ‘Oh I’m sure that would be lovely, but we still have so much to buy.’

‘Pity,’ Draco said. Maybe he actually meant it this time, but Harry couldn’t really tell. Harry shrugged. He was disappointed he couldn’t talk more to Draco, but knew he’d see him again in a few months. 

The witch had put Draco’s robe in a large box along with several other things. The boy glowered at her pointedly and motioned. Harry followed his hand and found a strange little creature waiting in the corner.

‘My elf, Norry,’ Draco said to Harry. Norry had large tennis-ball eyes and curled ears. 

‘Hi Norry,’ Harry said with a small wave. ‘I’m Harry.’

‘Hello, Harry Potter,’ Norry said with a small bow. Draco made some sort of face when Harry bowed back. The witch handed Norry Draco’s robes.

‘You have a lot to learn,’ Draco said, shaking his head. ‘Anyhow, I am very pleased to have met you.’

He held out his hand for Harry to shake. After a moment, Harry shook it. 

‘I’ll see you at Hogwarts,’ said Harry. He smiled. 

‘I’m counting on it,’ Draco said confidently, smiling back. ‘But, uh, would you mind if we wrote to each other?’

‘Sure!’ Harry said. ‘What’s your address?’

‘Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire,’ rattled off Draco. He beamed when Harry repeated it. At that, he left the shop with Norry carrying his robes. Harry paid and walked back to Andromeda. 

‘He seems nice,’ said Andromeda.

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Harry replied. ‘He talked about Quidditch and his dad a lot.’

Andromeda made a noncommittal noise. ‘I guess it’s time to dip into the apothecary, after we find Ted.’

-oOo-

The book shop called Flourish and Blotts had two pillars of books holding up the roof and was very popular, if the wizards, witches and children constantly coming and going out of it was any idea. Ted exited with a large bag from there and joined them. 

Harry absorbed all the different shops that lined the main path like Eeylops Owl Emporium, which sold the mail owls wizards used instead of a postman. There was a gaggle of boys around his age gathered around a shop window that was selling broomsticks. Harry did want to fly a broomstick, but wasn’t allowed to outside of class. After all, first-years aren’t allowed their own. His eyes trailed along the smooth handle, the Good Luck troll hair-like twigs. A small sign said that the broom was called a Nimbus Two-Thousand. It was a nice broom, but it cost six thousand Galleons which was a lot for just a broomstick.

Harry also saw a large stand selling dragon roasted cashews, a goblin selling jewellery outside of an antique store, the ice cream parlour of Florean Fortescue bedecked in gleaming chrome, a robe shop, no less than two stationeries, and the Daily Prophet office where Harry got all his entertainment from. He didn’t really understand the cartoons of page 15, but knew they must be funny to someone. He particularly liked wizard newspapers since all the pictures were bewitched to move. 

Harry and the Tonkses went into Mulpepper’s Apothecary, which was a little ways away from Flourish and Blotts. 

The apothecary smelled very strangely, as it didn’t have one at all. Not even the hint of a smell. The room was filled with small jars, bags, and satchels of various sizes with labels describing the weight, price, and contents of the container. There were bat’s wings, large curled claws, even unicorn hairs. 

A large sign that said “DO NOT OPEN REAGENTS BEFORE PURCHASE!” hung above the register, so Harry stopped himself from doing so. Ted picked up a simple wooden box with a stout latch wrapped in Spellotape toward the end of the shop. Harry placed a phial rack- a simple stand with six holes- on the counter as well as a set of brass scales. 

The shop a door over was Potage’s Cauldron Shops, where Harry purchased a cauldron that weighed as much as Aunt Petunia’s dutch oven. Andromeda conjured a large bag and placed the cauldron inside next to the other potions ingredients. 

Scribbulus’ Writing Implements had hundreds of different styles and brands of ink, rolls of yellow, brown, and white parchment, and quill feathers ranging from the worst (chicken feathers) to the best (ostrich feather). Harry bought a packet of goose feather quills and a pot of black ink here, and also a bottle of red ink just for fun. 

Another store called Wiseacre’s Wizarding Emporium carried all sorts of things: trunks, bedding, astrolabes, thimbles and thread, a large star map on a globe, backpacks, and everything in between in a chaotic mess. Harry quickly left the store after getting his supplies and a wristwatch Andromeda insisted he get, and would be very eager to not go back there ever again. 

-oOo-

The Tonkses led Harry to Ollivander’s Wand Shop, one of their last stops. The storefront was wood painted black with large glass panels. On a faded purple cushion sat a wand. Harry read at the top “Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.” in gold lettering. 

There was no way of finding out if that was true or not, but Harry didn’t ask the Tonkses otherwise. As he entered the shop, there was an overwhelming odour of dust and mildew Harry would expect in the library at St. Grogory’s. He supposed the smell fit as wands were made out of wood, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant. 

The shop was laid out as most of the shops were, with a large wooden counter towards the front and a large storeroom in the back open to Harry’s view. Instead of bagged claws or cauldrons, the shop was filled with long purple boxes labelled with cream slips of parchment on one end. An oil lamp and an old-fashioned register sat on the counter which was manned by an older wizard with bright silver eyes and a frizzy mane of white hair.

‘I was wondering when I might see you, Mr Potter,’ the man said. ‘It seems only yesterday that your mother and father were here to find their first wands… Ah, Edward Tonks, cypress and phoenix feather, pliable, and Andromeda Black, your own was-’

‘It’s Andromeda Tonks, now, and yes, it’s poplar and unicorn hair,’ Andromeda interrupted not unkindly.

‘I do apologise,’ said Ollivander with a small bow. He turned to Harry. ‘And your parents, Mr Potter- willow and unicorn hair favoured your mother, and mahogany and dragon heartstring your father. Ah, what a lovely pair of wands.’

‘Err, sir, when you say the wands “favoured” my parents, what do you mean?’ asked Harry.

Ollivander chuckled like it was one of his old favourite jokes. ‘Ah, well. One is not simply able to pick up a want and use it properly, Mr Potter.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘It is the highest of truths held amongst wandmakers that will guide our process today: the wand _chooses_ the wizard, though it’s not always clear why.”

Harry nodded, unsure of what he was talking about. Mr Ollivander dove back into his stores, pulling out boxes and boxes of wands for him to try. Harry tried wand after wand, with Mr Ollivander growing more and more excited as he went further and further back into his collection. 

At last Mr Ollivander paused his manic frenzy. His silver eyes bored into Harry’s forehead, at his scar. He paused for a moment, his eyes taking a faraway look. He slowly walked into the very back of the store. He came back with a black box faded grey with time and, as if he were holding the shinbone of a saint, he placed it onto the top of his counter. Harry was nervous. Was this the last try before Mr Ollivander kicked him out for good?

Mr Ollivander took out the wand from the box. He passed it to Harry, who felt a warm tingle run down his arm as his family ring had done the previous night. He felt a strange sense of belonging to this wand, as much as the wand belonged to him.

‘Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches…’ Mr Ollivander said. His eyes flitted from the wand to Harry’s scar. ‘It’s a curious thing, Mr Potter. I’ve remembered every wand I’ve ever sold. 

‘The phoenix whose tail-feather lies within your wand gave another. Just one other. It’s curious that this wand should fall to you when its brother gave you that scar.’

Harry felt uneasy. ‘I don’t-’

‘Ah but the wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter, _not_ the other way around,’ Mr Ollivander interrupted. ‘Perhaps it is your destiny that you, who vanquished He Who Must Not Be Named, should wield his wand-brother.’ He leaned forward. ‘Perhaps, with this wand, you can endeavour to right his wrongs, to redeem the bond these two share.

Mr Ollivander leaned back again. ‘Seven galleons, Mr Potter.’

Flustered, Harry placed his wand in the box and gave Mr Ollivander his money. The Tonkses followed soon after. 

-oOo-

‘Well that was all a bit barmy, wasn’t it, dear? Called you Andromeda Black and everything.’

Andromeda chuckled. ‘I guess it’s been a while since he’s left the wand shop.’

‘What happened?’ asked Harry.

‘Black’s my maiden name,’ Andromeda said. ‘Now then, do you want a pet? You’re allowed to bring anything unmagical.’

Harry’s gaze flitted between the street signs. There were two pet shops, one only for owls called Eeyop’s Owl Emporium and the other the Magical Menagerie. 

‘I think so. Owls sound useful, so I’ll get one,’ said Harry. They went into Eeyop’s. The space was large and similarly well-kept to Mulpepper’s, with large cages containing many different sorts of owls. 

Harry settled on a large owl with amber eyes and white and grey feathers with black spots. She was a snowy owl, and after a short while she was Harry’s pet. Harry also bought a large cage and owl treats for his new bird. A name wasn’t very clear for it there, so he’d wait until he got to the Tonkses’ house to decide. Andromeda suggested letting the bird fly to their house, which Harry agreed to.

-oOo-

At long last, they returned to Clay Lane. Harry helped unload the bags and placed his supplies in his trunk, leaving his school uniform in a separate bag. 

‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’ said Ted.

‘I guess. I didn’t really know what to do in Ollivander’s. He was weird.’

‘Weird?’ repeated Andromeda.

‘Err, yeah. He just seemed a bit off.’

‘I imagine all wandmakers are like that,’ said Ted dismissively. He levitated Harry’s trunk over to near the fireplace. 

Another month or so and Harry would be attending Hogwarts. He was very excited. 

-oOo-

Later that night after a rousing dinner with the Tonkses, Harry prepared to send off his first letter with Hedwig, his owl. He’d gotten the name from King Hedwig, a female king of Poland in his History of Magic text. Hedwig the owl was regal enough to be a queen, much less a king. He wanted to practise writing with a quill and ink on parchment, since apparently that’s what they were going to use. As he set everything out, there was a knock on his door.

‘Yeah?’ 

‘May I come in?’ Dora asked. Harry nodded. She came in and eyed his papers. ‘What do you have there?’

‘I’m writing to my new friend.’

‘Oh that’s nice. What’s his name?’

‘Draco Malfoy,’ Harry said. ‘He wants me to go into Slytherin.’

Dora chuckled. ‘That’s funny.’ Her hair turned a dull gold, sort of like Draco’s hair. 

‘What?’ asked Harry

‘Oh, he’s mum’s nephew,’ she said. Her hair dipped into blue. 

‘ _What?_ ’

‘Oh yeah, his mother Narcissa is mum’s younger sister.’

‘She didn’t mention that,’ said Harry.

‘It’s kinda a touchy subject. Mum hardly ever talks about her childhood.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said. He could understand that. Dora’s hair had changed colour again. ‘By the way, how are you doing that with your hair?’

‘I’m a Metamorphomagus. It means I can change my appearance whenever I like.’

‘Wicked!’ Harry said. ‘Can you turn into an animal?’

‘No, that’s an Animagus,’ Dora said. ‘I can’t be one of those.’

‘Why?’

‘Complex magical theory stuff,’ Dora said dismissively. ‘Wanna see something cool?’

‘Sure!’

Dora squished her face. Suddenly, she transformed into a perfect copy of Harry, scar and all. Only their clothes were different.

‘Cool, right?’ Dora said, rapidly changing Harry’s hair colour.

‘Kinda creepy- but really cool!’ exclaimed Harry. Dora changed back into her normal form.

‘I can do most anyone. Name someone, quick!’

‘Uh, oh- Professor Snape!’

‘Oh Merlin-’ Dora squished her face and turned into Professor Snape. ‘Mr Potter,’ she said in his voice, ‘You are once again late for your Potions lessons. Hurry along or I shall be forced to pickle your eyeballs!’

Dora lunged at Harry who squealed and tipped over his ink pot. Dora quickly shifted back and set the bottle to rights. 

‘Here’s a useful charm,’ she said. ‘You may be really clumsy like me, so it’s extra useful. It’s the siphoning charm. Basically you tap a container then some liquid and the liquid goes into the container.’

Harry took his wand from its box and did what Dora told him. He tried a few more times but it didn’t work.

‘Oh! You have to say _Absaug_ too,’ Dora said. ‘Forgot that.’

‘Absaug,’ Harry said, repeating the motion. The ink rushed off the page and back into the pot as if nothing happened. 

‘Great!’ Dora exclaimed. ‘Mum’s ace at these sorts of spells. That and Pack were the only ones I could manage.’

‘Does that spell do what I think it does?’

‘Yeah, but it’s a lot more complicated than _Absaug_. Anyway, go on to your letters.’

‘Should I not write to him?’

‘Why?’

‘Well you said Andromeda doesn’t like her sister,’ Harry said. He told her about Andromeda meeting Draco.

Dora glanced up briefly and blinked. ‘I don’t think mum would care either way. I've met plenty of people whose parents I didn’t like. Like James Avery. His dad was a Death Eater, and so’s his granddad. Draco’s dad was too. Well, I should say that they had a lot of evidence he was, but it didn’t stick. He claimed he was cursed.’

‘Oh,’ said Harry.

‘Sorry,’ Dora said. ‘Like I said, you shouldn’t hold Draco’s parents against him. People can always change, and people aren’t their parents. Look at my parents! Do you think either of them would have had pink hair?’

‘I guess you’re right,’ said Harry.

Dora smiled. ‘Of course I’m right - I’m older. Anyhow, get to it, young one!’

She hopped off his bed and promptly fell on her face. She raised a thumbs-up and got up, closing Harry’s door softly behind her. 

Harry turned back to his parchment.

The door opened again, making Harry spill his ink. It was Dora. ‘By the way, wipe off the excess ink like a knife on a jam jar. Makes it a lot less messy.’

Harry nodded and she closed the door again. He waited a moment for her to surprise him, but she didn’t. He sighed and used the _Absaug_ charm again. Harry dipped his quill pen into the ink and wiped off the excess on the rim like with a knife on a jam jar. He began to write:

_Hi Draco,_

_~~It’s Harry. Harry Potter.~~ _

_Sorry. I haven’t really written letters before. It’s all sorts of new to me. I think you remember that you asked me to write. I guess I should tell you a bit about myself since we really didn’t have time in the shop._

What do wizarding boys talk about? He didn’t know that much about Quidditch, and didn’t fancy being like Uncle Vernon (who claimed to be an expert on topics he obviously knew nothing about), so he was drawing a blank. He shrugged and told him about the past few days. 

_For one thing, I had no idea I was famous. I grew up with my Muggle family in Surrey and had a pretty normal life. I went to Muggle school and didn’t know about magic until about two months ago. It wasn’t all horrible. I’m living with a new family now and I really like them. It’s only been a day and it feels like I’ve known the Tonkses for a while. Maybe you know them? Andromeda said she was a Healer._

_I was a bit overwhelmed with it all, especially since it all happened yesterday on my birthday. You don’t have to get me anything by the way, I was just saying it didn’t help. I stayed in the Leaky Cauldron and had dinner with some of my professors. Is that a regular thing? They talked about Quidditch and the houses and Hogwarts. I also got my family ring then. I like it a lot. Do you know anything about family rings? I don’t._

_I don’t like crowds, and I didn’t like Mr Ollivander too much. He was kind of weird._

_By the way, what are house elves? Could you tell me more about them? I know I met Norry, I’m just not sure what they are._

_I’m sorry if I’m boring you. I just really don’t know what to write._

Harry should stop while he was ahead. He quickly scrawled a ‘Sincerely, Harry’ at the bottom and went downstairs after putting his quill on another piece of paper to dry. 

-oOo-

He saw Ted and Andromeda talking in the kitchen. He waited a moment for them to finish. ‘Do you all have envelopes? I’d like to send off a letter.’

Ted got up and opened a door, fishing out an envelope. ‘I’m guessing you wrote in ink too?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry.

‘Let me show you a drying charm,’ Ted said. 

He took out last Sunday’s Daily Prophet and poured water from the tap on a corner of it. He pointed his wand at the paper and said. ‘ _Assicere_.’ The edge dried and wrinkled a bit. 

‘Cool,’ Harry said. Ted smiled. ‘Thank you. Good night.’

‘Good night, Harry.’ they said in unison. 

Harry went upstairs and repeated the drying charm. He folded up the letter and placed it in the envelope, writing “Draco, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire” on the front of the envelope. He rummaged inside the desk and found some old smiley face stickers, using it to close the envelope. 

He opened Hedwig’s cage. ‘Can you get this to Draco in the morning?’ She eyed the envelope and bobbed her head before closing her eyes again. Harry smiled and patted her head. He left his window open and turned off his overhead fan, settling in for the night.

Early the next morning, Hedwig hopped out of the window and carried Harry’s first letter to Draco. Harry groggily opened one eye then shut it. He rolled over in his Doctor Duck bedspread and slept on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Do you like Harry being with the Tonkses? Do you think Andromeda will reach out to her sister when Harry and Draco become closer friends?


	7. The Long Game

Back in Diagon Alley, Draco’s head spun. He had met  _ the  _ Harry Potter. In a shop. He’d been very different from what Draco was told to expect. He’d heard rumours from his friends, that there was talk amongst their parent’s social circle about the possibility of Harry being… more than a celebrity. A powerful sorcerer, perhaps even the most powerful. Certainly, no one knew how Harry had done it. He intended to be the first to tell his father how exactly Harry Potter had managed to defeat You-Know-Who. 

Yet Harry Potter had cut an unassuming and, dare he say,  _ bashful  _ figure. Whomever this Andromeda was (who was far too familiar with Harry for Draco’s comfort), she had made sure Harry was at least informed of the basics of their world. He still had a lot to learn; least of which how to treat house elves. They were servants, not friends. 

For a very long time, Draco had dreamed of befriending Harry Potter. Harry grew up with Muggles, so naturally he would hate them, surely. Maybe they were like his servants? Yet if he had servants, he must’ve known who everyone was in society like Draco did, which he obviously didn’t. It was all very confusing, to say the least. 

‘Draco!’ Father snapped. Draco’s head shot back up. He recognized where he was. He’d just told them he met Harry Potter. They were standing off to the side of the street under a Silencing Charm. 

‘Sorry father,’ Draco said. He stared intently at his shoes. ‘I was trying to plan my next encounter with Potter.’

His father Lucius raised an eyebrow but said nothing. ‘It is time for your wand to be purchased. We’ll speak more of Potter when we return to the Manor.’

His mother Narcissa smiled quietly to herself. ‘Go on, Draco.’ She patted Draco’s shoulder.

‘Where will you be?’ Draco asked his mother. He had really quite forgotten the plan in his excitement. 

‘We’re returning to the Manor as discussed, after I make a few acquisitions,’ replied Father. Draco knew he’d be in Knockturn Alley, the more interesting and Dark side of Diagon Alley. ‘Norry will be with you.’

Draco nodded. ‘I’ll see you at home, Mother and Father.’

They smiled and parted ways with Draco. Mother slashed her wand and cancelled the silencing charm. 

‘Norry!’ Draco called. The house elf appeared with a crack.

‘Yes, Master Draco?’ she asked with a small bow.

‘Father wishes you to accompany me to Ollivander’s, for whatever reason.’

‘Yes, Master Draco,’ Norry said with an agreeable nod. ‘Norry will follow you to the wandmaker.’

‘I want to go look at the fish at Scamander Green afterwards,’ Draco said. Norry smiled. 

Draco knew Norry was different. She was intelligent, shrewd even. Even if she was a servant she was the closest thing Draco had to a real friend. 

‘Master Draco ought not to do that,’ she said sadly. ‘Master Draco knows Master Lucius doesn’t wish for him to travel for a house elf’s leisure.’

‘Well…’ Draco swallowed and considered his reply carefully. ‘You will not tell my father that we went, and nor will I.’

Norry beamed. ‘Norry will not tell. Norry will never tell Master Lucius.’

Draco smiled. ‘Come on then. We’re definitely  _ not  _ going to Scamander Green after getting my wand.’

‘No, certainly not, Master Draco,’ the elf said with a dramatic shake of her head. ‘Norry would never dream of going there.’

-oOo-

Draco and Norry strode into the faded building of Ollivander’s. There, Mr. Ollivander vanished a small amount of glass on the floor. Clearly, a wand found a potential match quite unsuitable.

‘Ahh, Mr Malfoy. A pleasure,’ said Mr Ollivander. ‘Let’s get you started.’

They tried many wands. Combinations of elm, birch, and redwood with various cores flew by. Draco was growing more and more frustrated by the minute. He was no Squib by any means, yet at the same time knew that he wouldn’t use his grandfather’s wand or any other family wand indefinitely. 

‘Should I come back later to give the wands a reprieve?’ asked Draco. 

‘Wands do not obey a schedule known to us,’ Mr Ollivander said sagely. Draco was even more enraged. Here Ollivander was, a second son of a second son, not even part of the main Noble House of Ollivander, telling  _ him _ , the heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, a more prominent and wealthy family, that he didn’t work on Draco’s time. The arrogance was blinding. 

Nevertheless, Draco held his tongue. Mr Ollivander went back in the front of the store and had a rather comical glint in his eyes when he came back to the front with a single box. 

‘This may be more telling than most of my purchases, Mr. Malfoy,’ he said. He placed the box reverentially onto the counter. ‘Hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches. Reasonably pliant.’

As soon as Ollivander offered him the handle of the wand, Draco snatched it. A cold shiver ran up his spine as a red column of smoke emitted from the tip. It slowly ran to clear before extinguishing itself altogether with a saddening  _ pfft _ . 

‘Remarkable!’ Mr Ollivander said with a little clap. ‘Most remarkable.’

‘Hawthorn?’ Draco asked incredulously. He had been expecting elm. ‘ _ Unicorn hair? _ ’

‘Hawthorn is a guide amongst woods,’ Ollivander reasoned. ‘It possesses the rather curious property of emitting an increasingly opaque and red puff of smoke when it deems its chosen wielder to have come closer to their true self.’

‘How does that work?’

‘Curious, eh?’ Mr Ollivander said. ‘It takes a lifetime for one bonded to hawthorn to discover their true self amidst all the outward pressures of the world. Only then will red smoke appear.’

Draco narrowed his eyes. ‘Sir, respectfully, I am  _ not  _ conflicted.’

The wand emitted clear smoke, like a mirage in the desert. Mr Ollivander glanced at the wand knowingly. ‘Ah well, it calls to you all the same. It’s priced all the same too; seven galleons.’

Draco stared at Mr Ollivander passively and placed his wand back into his box. He placed the galleons on the counter one by one with care but a little too much force and took his purchase with him. He’d have Norry pick up a maintenance kit when he was at Hogwarts: no Malfoy would  _ ever  _ have an unpolished wand. 

‘I can’t believe it!’ Draco exclaimed to Norry as they turned the corner. ‘The nerve of that man.’

‘Master Draco ought to respect the wandmaker,’ Norry said. ‘Norry has heard Master Lucius speak very highly of the wandmaker’s craft.’

‘Craft,’ Draco spat. ‘Bully to my father for identifying the man’s sole use, however niche and utterly predictable it is within his stupid family. He can craft them, but he certainly can’t match them to a wizard properly.’

‘What would Master Draco wish for?’ Norry asked carefully.

Draco paused in front of the Floo terminal. ‘Silver lime,’ he said. ‘Silver lime and dragon heartstring.’

‘Would Master Draco prefer Norry to seek out another wandmaker?’ the elf asked curiously. ‘One who’d be willing to create such a wand for Master Draco?’

Draco appreciated the appeal, but also weighed the slight scandal that would hamper his father’s good reputation, to say nothing of Lord Ollivander’s wrath. ‘No, I should think not. I will endure this blasted thing.’

‘As you wish, Master Draco,’ replied Norry. Draco’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. ‘Would Master Draco like to go to Scamander Green today?’ asked Norry mildly.

Draco sighed. He did really want to go. It was such a beautiful park. Yet he had to return the wand to Malfoy Manor for his parent’s inevitable inspection. 

‘Oh it was a stupid plan anyway,’ he said. ‘I can’t go anywhere with the wand still here.’ Draco shook the box for emphasis. 

‘Norry could take us both to Scamander Green. Norry would enjoy the fish very much.’

‘Father says I can’t Apparate with the house elves. He says it’s vulgar.’

‘Norry won’t tell if Master Draco doesn’t tell,’ Norry said. Draco grinned and took Norry’s hand into his own. The two disappeared with a crack from the alley. 

-oOo-

In the tunnel of twisting magic, Draco was being shoved through the eye of a needle. 

With a resounding snap, they appeared in a large open space with low-lying stone walls, cobblestone paths, and large swaying trees. Draco loved Scamander Green. His mother and father took him here, but not often enough. The gardens were so different from the ones at the Malfoy Manor. Everything was a lot less planned, more organic. Little rock gnomes scurried across the ground like crabs. Small fairies flew aimlessly through the boughs of oak trees lining the central path to the lake, where he and Norry sat in the quiet afternoon, watching the flying fish dance around the lake. 

Draco loved his parents, he truly did. Yet he knew they had very high aspirations for him, and always had. He was eager to prove himself, yet something about this place, especially when he was alone- well, with Norry anyway- was so freeing. 

A curl of something rose out of the box. 

He so very hoped that this was a temporary thing. Or at least very intermittent.

-oOo-

Back at the Manor, Norry and Draco parted ways. Norry snapped her fingers, and any trace of their excursion (the dirt and scuffs on his shoes came to mind) vanished without a trace. Draco spared a glance at the vast, orderly Entrance Hall and was ever-mindful that he didn’t clack his shoes against the flooring. His mother had scolded him gently after he did that the last time. 

He greeted the portraits of his ancestors as he passed through the hall to his father’s study. Since he was little, his father had taken great interest in teaching Draco the ins and outs of their family, of the importance of their house and of Draco’s lineage. Draco had memorised them all, matched names to faces and names to lineages as far back as nine direct ancestral links on both sides; his father had been so proud. 

Draco opened the door. His mother and father were waiting for him. They were, as always, the picture of Pureblood refinement. They each wore a ring distinguishing them as Lord and Lady Malfoy, and his mother a brooch bearing the crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as well, her house of birth. 

‘Draco, darling,’ Narcissa said by way of greeting. ‘Come sit with us a moment.’ 

He knew a moment could be a long time depending on his cooperation and or comprehension of what was being said. Nevertheless, he dutifully sat next to his mother on the high-backed couch, positioned between both his Mother and Father equally. 

‘We’d like to know more about your visit with Harry Potter,’ Father informed him.

‘Of course,’ Draco said. He had half expected them to tell him off for going to Scamander Green. As far as he knew, they didn’t know quite yet. He told them all about Harry: how he was dressed (wholly unlike his picture books or what a decent wizard should wear), how he wasn’t living with his Muggle relatives anymore (they all shared a look of significant relief), and how mind-numbingly ignorant he was about proper social conventions, if not the entirety of wizardry; Harry did know what the Hogwarts houses were and Quidditch, though he apparently didn’t want to play which was a big shock, and-

‘ _ Draco _ ,’ his father said gently. Draco closed his mouth with a small click.

‘Well,’ his mother said with a small pause. ‘I should think it a successful encounter.’

‘Indeed,’ Father said with some mirth. ‘Did he mention if he had a preference in any House?’

Translation: Was Harry definitely going to be in Gryffindor like his parents? 

‘No,’ Draco said. ‘He did promise to go into Slytherin.’

‘Magically?’ Mother said with a hint of shock. ‘He had a wand already?’

‘Oh Merlin no,’ Draco said. Mother relaxed in her chair. Magical oaths were a serious business. Even Draco knew that. Even pinky swears were less serious than magic oaths and Harry and Draco hadn’t even done that much. 

His father leaned back in his chair, taking all of Draco’s information in. This was the critical moment, where Father and Mother would determine if the connection was risky or otherwise unfeasible. Draco knew Harry was a half-blood, but so were a lot of relatives in the family tree throughout the centuries. He already knew Mother was on board; she had said just as much with her comment on a ‘successful encounter’. 

Surely if Father’s own relatives hadn’t blasted half-bloods off the family tree like Great Aunt Walburga did in her branch of the Black Family, then he would at least have a chance to befriend Harry. That is, if he ended up in Slytherin. Everything hung on Harry being in Slytherin. Draco waited eagerly for his father to say yes, while also growing increasingly excited for when he, Draco Malfoy, could show Harry Potter the rules of Pureblood society which he’d surely join, his mother’s ancestry notwithstanding. 

‘I should think you should have no issue in being friendly with Potter.’ Father said, ‘Regardless of where he ends up-’  _ Unless he’s in Gryffindor _ , ‘- and should he be in your House, that would prove a… useful connection.’

‘Can I bring him over for Christmas? I doubt those Muggles threw any sort of good Yule festivities at all.’

‘Don’t be too hasty, Draco,’ Mother chided gently. ‘You only had a fifteen minute conversation. In any case, he is living with a magical family, as you’ve said.’

‘Should Potter be amenable, I can see little reason why he couldn’t join us for Yule,’ Father said smoothly. Translation: If Harry is in Slytherin, then yes. Otherwise, definitely not. 

Draco smiled. ‘Oh excellent. Really excellent. By the way, do you know an Andromeda?’

Father stiffened, his eyes flitting to Draco’s mother. ‘I suspect there are many Andromedas that we know.’

-oOo-

Afterwards, his mother had withdrawn to her rooms to prepare for the evening meal. Draco did so as well, his mind abuzz with harebrained scheme after harebrained scheme on how to win Harry’s favour for his parents, and to make a friend that his parents hadn’t pre-approved. It was borderline scandalous and rebellious to Draco to even think that, but he did and it thrilled him. 

Harry was a friend Draco made all on his own. He was very different from any other of Draco’s friends; most of all his parents definitely weren’t Death Eaters and he definitely wasn’t a Pureblood. Being friends with Harry would go against everything his parents stood for. Sure, there were half bloods who weren’t blasted off the tree, but Malfoys didn’t associate with non-family half bloods at all. Plus, the war was over and the subject banned, yet Harry had played a huge role in it. How might he do it? How would he befriend Harry for his family without spitting on everything they believed in?

The answer came rather more quickly than Draco had anticipated. 

-oOo-

His mother was sitting on his bed, holding one of Draco’s old stuffed dragons as if it were a Kneazle on her lap. 

‘Mother!’ Draco said in shock. ‘Where on earth did you find it?’

‘The bottom of one of your closets,’ she said neutrally. ‘What was this one’s name?’

Draco paused. His cheeks tinged with embarrassment. ‘Flameo.’

His mother smiled. ‘Yes,  _ Flameo _ . I remember. I suppose he was at the bottom of your closet because you didn’t want him anymore?’

‘No!- Well, yes, but I didn’t…’ Draco sighed. His mother had purchased that dragon for him years ago. ‘Don’t you think I’m a bit too old for stuffed dragons?’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’ Mother said. Draco eyed Flameo the Dragon, wanting to snatch it and burn it. ‘I had a doll myself until I was twelve. Your Aunt Bellatrix threw it down the stairs.’

‘Oh,’ Draco said. They never talked much about Aunt Bellatrix. Too much to do with the war. 

Mother set it aside and patted the spot next to her. ‘You might be curious why I’m talking to you here of all places.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Draco said. He stared at the wall. Was this about Norry?

‘Your father wishes you to be friendly with the Potter boy for many reasons. I also want you to be friends with him. Yet this will be far more difficult a feat. Based on your description, he has no appreciation for his wealth and or status.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Draco said. ‘I’d love to be as famous as Harry.’

Mother smiled. ‘Perhaps, dear. We have an opportunity now -  _ you  _ have an opportunity. He knows nothing, and you do. He has powers that no one can comprehend, and such potential too…’

‘You want me to be friends with Harry because he’s famous, for the family?’ Draco asked. ‘Even if he doesn’t want to be famous?’

‘You just said you wanted to be as famous as him, darling.’

Draco started to protest. His mother put her finger over Draco’s lips. He knew he didn’t want to be famous because his friend was. He wanted to be like his father and be powerful in his own right.

‘It’s alright. You must wonder why we’ve asked you to befriend Potter. After all, he’s a half-blood. Power exempts, Draco. Potter will probably not enjoy our customary formality, nor appreciate the distinction in his and your status. If you are to succeed, I suggest you let your hair down. Treat him as an equal, and him alone.’

‘I… I don’t understand,’ Draco said. 

Narcissa smiled and patted his knee. This was a very unusual conversation. ‘You will in time,’ Narcissa said. ‘Be downstairs in fifteen minutes.’

‘Yes, Mother…’ Draco said hesitantly. 

-oOo-

At breakfast the next morning, which Draco took in his room, he received his first letter from Harry. He was so very excited by it. When he opened it, he laughed. Harry really did have a lot to learn. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to call Harry  _ Harry _ , he’d have to stick with Potter like he did with his other friends. Calling him by his first name had been too affectionate. 

Harry couldn’t write to save his life but there were some interesting titbits. He’d gone to a Muggle school, which Draco was scandalised by. He had been beaten by his cousin, which was also horrific. They threw him out on his birthday of all days (and of course Harry was going to get something from Draco).

What were the chances they both had strange experiences with Ollivander? Potter also said his guardian Andromeda was a Healer. Perhaps that would narrow it down for his parents. Draco set all of the revelations aside and began to write a letter. 

Dear Potter,

Yes I must call you Potter. It’s the thing to do in letters such as these. You don’t have to call me Malfoy, though, I guess. I’ll ask Mother. 

I must say you’ve had a very interesting last couple of days. No, it’s definitely not usual for three Hogwarts professors to take dinner with a single student, but I’m sure you’ll find many lesser restrictions lifted for you on account of your fame.

‘Power, as Mother had said, exempts one from most things,’ Draco thought. 

I was rather jealous that you have your family’s ring already. Of course I have an heir ring but it’s not quite the same. As I’m sure you don’t know, a family ring is reserved for the Lord of the house, and the scion ring for the heir of the Lord. So my father as Lord Malfoy has our family ring. It allows him to control the house enchantments and suchlike on our properties. I’m sure there are other things involved, but I’m not too sure. The only thing I can do with my ring is lock and unlock the Heir’s Tower on my side of the Manor. You simply must visit during Yule, if not for the entire holiday. 

As for house elves, they are a species of servant fey like a brownie or a hob. Most families in high society bind them to a residence. Otherwise, they can come and go as they please to wherever the fey are from and to other houses. It would be improper not to bind a house elf, I believe, or they wouldn’t be beholden to be discrete. We have about ten here, which is the almost any one house has in Britain. 

Draco racked his brain for what else to say. He was dying to know who Harry was living with, but it would be too impolite to ask in a first letter. 

What have you learned about Quidditch? Did you know there was an English League or a Quidditch World Cup? There’s also a British Quidditch Championships, which has all the British teams compete against each other. My family’s favourite is the Wimborne Wasps, and they’ve won the League and British cups for ten straight seasons. The World Cup was held last year in Boston in the United States. Scotland lost rather spectacularly to the host nation. We didn’t attend.

I spent the majority of my summer with Pansy Parkinson and some other friends in Malta. It’s customary for our kind-

Draco had almost put “my kind”, but thought better of it. Power exempts one from unsavoury truths, after all. 

It’s customary for our kind to spend a month or two abroad before we’re sent off to boarding school. We all had selected the same venue - quite by accident, I assure you. I’ll tell you all about it and them in a subsequent letter, if you’re interested. 

Draco had hoped that this wouldn’t be too leading. In any case, by sparing a second glance to Harry’s letter, Draco surmised that he was searching for a bit of direction. In any case, by telling Harry about his other friends, perhaps he’d recognise that Draco was only friends with them because his parents had wanted him to be. Sure, he was fond of them now, but how much of that was due to his begrudging resignation that he’d never be rid of them? They weren’t worthy of him. Harry Potter was. 

Vincent Crabbe’s father, of the same name, knew Draco’s father before the war. Vincent II was already quite stocky for an eleven year old. Draco knew he had trouble reading. Crabbe was one of his oldest friends and had been assigned as one of Draco’s ‘protectors’. As if Draco needed protection. 

Gregory Goyle also shared his name with his father. His mother was Margaret Carter, an American Pureblood socialite. He was similarly built to Crabbe but taller and with more hair, not to mention (privately) a bit more brain power. That wasn’t saying much. Nevertheless, Draco and Goyle enjoyed each other's company and had since before they could recall. 

Pansy Parkinson was the daughter of Lisianthus, Lord Parkinson, and Renette Blishwick. Pansy and Draco hadn’t been as close as children, though they had been formally introduced at seven. Draco had heard rumours that he was supposed to marry Pansy to further the Malfoy line. What other reason would he have? Pansy was nice, she was just too much of a gossip. 

Theodore Nott was a stringy sort of boy with a wide gap between his front two teeth, and a bigger mouth to boot. Nott talked, and talked, and talked without paying much mind to what he said if he wasn’t in “polite company”. Where did that impulse came from? After all, Nott’s father Lord Tarquinius was a very, very scary man. Lord Nott and Draco’s father worked together in the Wizengamot. According to Nott, his father was one of You-Know-Who’s first supporters, even sharing a room with him. Of course now Slytherin had double rooms instead of communal dormitories, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was that his life was pointing Draco into an opposite direction than one that was strictly conducive to being friends with Harry. A child he may be, but Draco wasn’t blind. All in all, he recognised that, even if his Father hadn’t been a Death Eater, he certainly was connected to a lot of them. That would make things extremely awkward to say the least. After all, the Death Eaters had betrayed and murdered Harry’s own parents. 

What was he to do? Should he just discard his friends and scorn his parents so. In any case, the Death Eaters were justified, at least in part, surely. Being magical was wonderful, and that’s what they were trying to defend. The Potters had been an unfortunate casualty, they’d been blind to the truth that Draco had grown up knowing: that magic and Muggles are fundamentally incompatible. 

Even if Harry wasn’t potato-like or as dumb as a rock as Draco’s picture books would have predicted a halfblood to appear, he was a half-blood. Harry might not appreciate the difference between himself and Draco, and Draco must (for the sake of their friendship) try to accommodate it, but no one in Slytherin would make Harry forget it, especially if he wasn’t sorted there. 

Finding himself quite too flustered to conclude properly, he quickly inscribed his signature and rolled up the note. 

‘Norry!’ he called. The house elf appeared with a sharp crack. 

‘Yes, Master Draco?’

‘Give this to the owls. It is to be delivered to Harry Potter.’

‘Does Mr Potter have an address?’

Draco stilled. He hadn’t thought to ask Harry for an address. ‘Is his owl still here?’

‘I believe so-’

‘Give it to the owl, then.’

She glanced at the scroll warily, but bobbed her head and disappeared. Draco understood her hesitancy. After all, it was rather presumptuous of Draco to use a visiting owl to deliver personal mail, especially if the owl was the recipient’s. Hopefully Harry would forgive the slight. 

Draco sighed. This was all terribly difficult to puzzle out on his own. Usually he talked with his mother about these sorts of things, but she wasn’t terribly interested in helping Draco in this case, only concerned with achieving a positive result. 

He did have a few questions to pose to his mother, however. 

-oOo-

Draco found his mother lounging in the gazebo Ouroboros Malfoy had installed in the late 1790s on the east lawn. It was one of her favourite places to read, and Draco supposed it was nice, if not for the peacocks that also roamed the gardens. 

‘Mother?’

‘Yes, Draco?’ said Mother, patting a space next to her. Draco hopped up.

‘I’ve had a letter from Potter,’ Draco said. ‘Do you know an Andromeda Tonks that’s a Healer?’

The book fell out of his mother’s hand. She turned, her eyes widened. ‘How…?’

‘Oh, Potter mentioned it,’ Draco said idly. A peacock strutted on top of one of the walls. ‘He asked if I knew the Tonkses, and mentioned Andromeda by name. Of course I don’t, but-’

‘Yes,’ Mother said. ‘She is your aunt.’

‘What?’ His mother wasn’t looking at him any longer. 

‘Andromeda is my older sister,’ she said in a small, deliberate sort of voice. ‘She renounced our ways shortly after leaving school. It’s not surprising that - ‘ She stopped herself with a dainty cough. ‘In any case, she is no longer a part of the Black family.’

‘What happened?’ asked Draco carefully. 

‘She married a Muggleborn,’ said Narcissa. She hid her expression from Draco by scooping up her book. 

‘Oh - how horrible!’ exclaimed Draco. He was worried. Had he struck a nerve?

‘I must ask you never to speak her name in this house again, Draco,’ Mother said with a sigh. ‘It is far too painful for me to be reminded of her.’

‘I understand,’ Draco said. ‘Mother?’

His mother put down the book. Her eyes were rather critical. ‘Yes, Draco dearest?’

‘How will this affect my endeavour to win Potter’s favour?’ Draco said more meekly than he intended.

‘It shouldn’t,’ Mother said. ‘It will be your duty to inform him what it means to be a proper wizard. Power exempts, but not for long. My… sister doesn’t enter into it.’

‘I understand, Mother,’ said Draco. He got up to leave. Clearly he’d asked too much this time.

‘Come here, my darling,’ his mother called. Draco turned and embraced her. She kissed his forehead. ‘I love you, my dearest. I always have and I always will.’ she tightened her arms around Draco. ‘Never forget that. I am sorry to have been terse with you.’

‘It’s alright,’ Draco said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘No, but I can’t fault you for wanting to know,’ she said. She loosened her grip. ‘You’re growing up so fast. You’ll be at Hogwarts before long and one day… well, you’ll bring a blushing bride back home, and-’

‘Oh mother that’s disgusting,’ said Draco with a small laugh. 

‘Disgusting? It’s the truth!’ Mother exclaimed. ‘One day you’ll think differently, I’m sure. You have time yet - though not too much.’

Draco smiled. ‘I’ll miss you both terribly.’

‘As will we miss you, my darling. As will we,’ she said, rubbing comforting circles on Draco’s back. 

-oOo-

Before too long, it came time to leave the Manor. A few of the house elves brought out case after case of Draco’s clothing and possessions, stacking them next to the fireplace over the coming days. It wouldn’t be long now. Why did he have too watch the elves taking his possessions out of wardrobes and drawers as if he were leaving the Manor forever? He’d been asked to select only the essentials. It was true that they had barely made a dent in Draco’s “inventory”, but the sizable chunk of essentials they were drawing out was still distressing to both him and his Mother. 

On the day, after dressing in his uniform for the first time, Draco fled back to his room and began to write out a long letter to Harry. Draco found he worked better when he had someone to talk out his thoughts and feelings with. He found letter-writing was infinitely relaxing and a good substitute, and often wrote out letters he never intended to send. He’d sent several to Harry so far, and so far they had talked about many topics. 

The last bit of information Draco had told Harry was his guardian and Draco’s mothers’ history and why in his family’s beliefs Andromeda Black was in the wrong. That caused a bit of a rift between them, yet Draco hadn’t figured out why. Harry’s letters became more of a reply to Draco’s and were remarkably shorter than his other ones. 

He dare not inform his parents of this development. Too much was riding on this friendship being a success. Plus, he wanted to figure out the problem by himself. After all, Harry was always going to be Draco’s friend. Ever since Draco was little he wanted to be friends with the Boy Who Lived. 

Who wouldn’t?

What would he do if Harry didn’t want to be friends with him?

Maybe the hawthorn had chosen Draco for a reason; he was in all sorts of conflict. Malfoys didn’t have friends, they had connections. They didn’t regret their actions, they moved on and learned. They didn’t socialise with half-bloods or people whose ancestors fought against them. 

Yet here Draco was, twiddling his thumbs about Potter. How in the name of Merlin had he screwed up this time?

Draco really did try. He didn’t want to laugh at Pansy’s jokes or play at Crabbe’s house for no other reason. He wanted to not want to hug his mother (it was an unnecessary and vulgar display in their circles), and did really want to be married and have children and teach them all about their ancestors.

At the same time, he was friends with his house elf. He wanted to be hugged by his mother. He did want to be friends with Harry Potter, a half-blood and descendant of people his ancestors despised. 

Was he the weak link in the thirty-three generations of the Malfoy family?

‘Oh how horrible,’ said Draco with a shiver. He really had to stop doing that. 

He let out a huff and put down his quill. A large ink blot that wasn’t there before blacked out a large swath of the parchment on his desk. Just his luck that he’d gone off and had a row with himself and left the quill out of the pot. 

A stupid letter was not worth getting messed up over. He’d smooth it out in person with Harry.

‘Master Draco,’ a voice called from the hall, ‘It’s time for Master Draco to go on to Hogsmeade.’

Draco hummed and rose from his desk. He left the stain for a house elf to clean and went to the reception hall to meet his mother and father. 

They were in their usual dress. Father’s hair was tied back in a ribbon, his cane held at a jaunty angle.

‘The time, Draco,’ said Father.

‘I was writing,’ murmured Draco.

Father shook his head. ‘No matter.’ He gave Draco a small smile. ‘Well, you’re off then.’

Draco nodded and was swept into a cool embrace by his mother. His father patted Draco’s shoulder. The bare walls and marble floors of the reception hall were the first guests saw before being guided through the halls of the Malfoy’s treasures, the last they saw before they left.

What was Draco- a trophy or a guest?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment. I'm very good about replying!


	8. Across the Lake

‘Harry!’ Andromeda yelled from downstairs. ‘It’s quite possibly the last moment!’

Harry looked around, frantically searching for his glasses. ‘You haven’t seen my glasses, have you Dora?’ he yelled. 

‘Check your face,’ Dora yelled back. Harry pawed at his face. He was wearing the bloody things. He sighed and rushed down the stairs. 

He came down the stairs. A flash of an old fashioned camera bloomed outwards as Harry turned towards it unwittingly. He looked shocked and horrified when he realised what happened.

‘You took a picture of me!’ exclaimed Harry.

‘Of course we did,’ Ted said. ‘We had to.’

‘Oh, it’s priceless,’ said Dora as she looked into the viewing lens.

‘W-where is that going?’ said Harry. He didn’t want anything too embarrassing to see the light of day. 

‘A photo album,’ Andromeda said simply. ‘It was meant to be a surprise, but it was too good a photo to pass up.’ She eyed his tie. ‘Professor Flitwick would usually cover this particular charm in the second term, however…’

She waved her wand. The tie Harry had spent agonizing over shook loose and floated outward before setting down on either side. 

Harry huffed in frustration. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to do magic without words,’ Harry said. He began to lift his tie again, but Ted told him to wait. 

‘You won’t learn nonverbal until your sixth year,’ said Andromeda. ‘In this case, that particular incantation was Renodo.’

‘ _ Renodo _ ,’ Harry repeated. He’d have to remember that one. He’d spent even more time untying the knots he made than he did tying them. 

Andromeda tapped either end of the tie. ‘Ligo,’ she incanted. The two halves rose and tied themselves together. ‘Got it?’

Harry nodded. Ted and Dora both gave him two thumbs up. 

Harry felt queasy. He was nervous about going to Hogsmeade.

‘Aw, c’mere, Harry,’ Dora said. ‘You’re gonna be fab!’ She tackled him into a rib-cracking hug and spun him around before stepping back.

‘Absolutely,’ said Ted. 

‘You’ll be the envy of whatever house you’re in,’ said Andromeda. 

‘What house, do you think?’ asked Harry. Today was the day, September first, when all the students would arrive and the first years would join their houses. He hoped that wherever he made it, he would belong there. 

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ replied Andromeda. 

Harry looked at the three Tonkses. They smiled reassuringly at him, but Harry could feel nothing but some sort of butterfly storm. Draco, his first friend, was a bigot just like Professor Snape warned him about. He’d said that Andromeda deserved to be disowned for marrying Ted and having Dora.

‘Dear, it’s time,’ Ted murmured to Andromeda. 

‘Right,’ Andromeda said. She smiled at Harry. ‘Harry, have a good term. We’ll see you at Christmas,, but you can write to us any time.’

‘Give ‘em hell,’ said Dora.

‘ _ Nymphadora _ .’

‘What?’ said Dora innocently. Her hair turned a more violet shade. Harry grinned.

‘Behave yourself, but not too much,’ Ted said to Harry. He rushed over and picked up the box of powder. ‘Right, if you’d take your floo powder-’

‘What about my things?’ asked Harry. He looked at the small gaggle of things, including his owl cage. Hedwig had flown to Hogwarts already. 

‘They’ll be taken up when you’re at the feast,’ replied Andromeda. 

Harry nodded. He scooped out a handful of Floo Powder. Andromeda fussed over his tie. 

‘Let him go,’ chided Ted. ‘Good luck, Harry!’

Harry waved with his free hand, unable to speak. ‘Hogsmeade!’ he shouted. 

Harry spun out of a freestanding hearth and hit the ground in front of someone wearing black robes. 

‘Good morning, Mr Potter,’ drawled Professor Snape. Harry groaned and got to his feet. The man waved his wand and cleaned Harry’s robes.

‘Good morning, Professor,’ Harry said quietly.

Professor Snape looked at him with an unreadable expression. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Why would there be a problem?’

Snape frowned and changed the topic. ‘Be advised to remain within sight of the Three Broomsticks. Once all the first years are here, we will send you off to the castle.’

_ That could take hours _ , Harry thought. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. Snape nodded sharply and whipped away, leaving Harry infinitely confused. 

Harry got out of the way as a boy with sandy blond hair tumbled out of the Floo. Harry noticed a tent with a few of his future classmates within, noticeable by their grey robe lining (that would turn a colour once they were sorted) but didn’t really feel like talking to anyone. He was too nervous. 

The rest of the street was like Diagon Alley, only the houses and shops were much more spaced out. The large Three Broomsticks, a tavern it seemed like, dominated the centre of Hogsmeade. 

Harry walked over to a bench away from the action and watched the professors. They were on some sort of relay system where one would pass an old shoe brush or a spool of twine to the other and pop away, returning moments later with a student. Harry figured that these random bits of junk were Portkeys. On a strange interval, students his age and older began to file out of the Floo or appear with a crack of Apparition. It was all sorts of noisy. Thankfully, no one had noticed him. 

Soon, carriages began to arrive for the older students at the edge of Hogsmeade going towards the castle. Harry thought they were very strange, as he couldn’t see any horses or hear an engine pulling them along. A team of House Elves also arrived, attaching a wagon full of luggage to the last carriage in the train. 

Harry looked back at the tent by the Three Broomsticks and thought he saw something familiar- a head of white-blond hair and a pointy chin. 

Harry gulped. He felt the color drain from his face. 

It was Draco, surrounded by a group of people their age. There were two larger boys surrounding him, a willowy boy, and a short girl as well. No doubt they were Draco’s friends. Draco’s real friends. Harry had no doubt that all of these friends were Purebloods. After all, it was something shameful to be born to a Muggleborn in Draco’s worldview.

Oh God! Draco was coming over now. Harry wanted to get up and run, but that smile of Draco’s stopped him. It looked  _ genuine _ . He noticed that he had walked over alone, though the girl he was with was watching them both curiously.

‘Hello, Potter. I would like to talk to you,’ said Draco.

Harry didn’t understand why Draco had insisted on calling him Potter. ‘I don’t want to.’ 

‘I wish to speak with you. It won’t take a moment, I swear.’ He caught a hint of distress.

Harry looked around. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. 

He nodded sharply. Draco looked relieved. ‘Let’s find somewhere private. I can’t really have the others listening in, you know?’

Harry got up from his bench slowly. He looked around. ‘Might dip behind the Three Broomsticks there.’

Draco looked where Harry was gesturing and nodded. ‘Fine.’

Harry went with Draco. He was unsure why, but he had a gut feeling that Draco wasn’t going to beat him up. He was very unlike Dudley; Harry didn’t think Dudley would send his own mother a letter, much less a boy he met in the shop. If everything didn’t work out, he could easily get away. 

‘Hello again, Harry,’ Draco said. He seemed to swallow his nervousness. ‘It must be strange that I’m calling you Potter. I can’t really call you by your first name, not when they can hear.’

He was sincere? Harry shook his head. ‘It doesn’t sound like they’re good friends.’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Draco said with a small shrug. ‘That’s hardly relevant. I understand what I told you a few weeks ago may have upset you.’

‘Upset me?’ Harry repeated carefully. ‘Why would it have upset me?’ Or, why did Draco think it upset him?

‘I’m not stupid, you know,’ Draco said with some heat. ‘I just really…’ He huffed and slowed down. ‘I’m very new to this whole ‘friend outside of your social circle’ thing. I know that that stuff is a lot more personal to you than me.’

‘Are you trying to apologise?’

‘Apologise?’ Draco was outraged. ‘I’m trying to explain how my world works. I can’t help that it’s the truth.’

Harry shook his head again and sighed. ‘Draco, that was horrible what happened to Andromeda. Families shouldn’t kick out one another because of who they love. If I were in your family, my dad-’

‘It wasn’t me!’ Draco exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t even  _ born  _ yet. I just wanted to tell you what had happened. It’s what my family believes to be right. I didn’t want it to turn into a whole thing.’

Harry looked at his feet. There was a question he’d been meaning to ask and he thought this was the only time he’d be able to ask it.

‘Draco… why do you want to be my friend?’

‘Does it matter why? You’re different to my other friends, which I think is nice..’ Draco said. Harry’s gaze shot up. ‘I still really,  _ really  _ want to. I don’t care that you’re a halfblood. I don’t care that we’re so very different.’

‘D’you mean that?’ asked Harry. 

After a moment, Draco nodded. ‘Of course I do.’

Harry was touched. He had guessed that Draco lived a pretty different life to Harry, one that was really structured and, well, old-fashioned. He supposed Draco’s life was like the princes in the Royal Family, if the comparison could be made. Yet despite that, and in light of what Dora said, Harry was willing to see past it. Draco, as it was, didn’t know any better. Harry thought he could give Draco the benefit of the doubt. 

He scratched the back of his neck. ‘Sorry about not writing much. I really didn’t know what else to say.’

Draco smiled. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’ His face fell. ‘ I have to act differently around them. Here, I can call you Harry. Out there, it’s Potter only.’

‘I doubt they care that much,’ said Harry.

Draco shrugged again. ‘Their parents  _ definitely _ do. I know mine care.’ 

Harry figured that was the case. ‘All right. I don’t like it much - but all right.’

Draco beamed. ‘Thanks, Harry. That means the world to me.’

‘We should go,’ said Harry. Draco followed him. They rejoined Draco’s friends. Draco seemed to think that his friends were little spies for their parents. Really, what kind of world did he grow up in?

‘Harry, would you like to meet my friends?’ asked Draco. He seemed to put on an authoritative, cold mask, as if he were showing off his prized collection of stamps, not his mates. 

‘This is Crabbe and this is Goyle,’ said Draco, gesturing to two boys who wouldn’t look out of place in Dudley’s gang.

One, Goyle, was quite taller than Crabbe but no less broad, with curly brown hair and freckles. Crabbe had a shaved head and what looked to be powdered donut on his uniform. Harry’s eyes widened marginally when their stone cold faces turned into brilliant grins when they were introduced. They waved at him. Harry hesitantly waved back. 

The short girl with short brown hair stood to the side of Crabbe and looked like she was about to faint. ‘This is Pansy Parkinson,’ Draco said. He leaned in conspiratorially towards Harry. ‘She’s a girl.’ 

Harry’s curiosity turned into a sort of awkward embarrassment. He didn’t fully expect Andromeda to be so right about people his age treating him differently for being famous. Well, everyone except for Draco.

‘And I’m not going to wait for Draco to introduce me,’ said another boy with sandy blond hair and a wide gap in his front teeth. ‘Theodore Nott, nice to meet you. My father Tarquinius is one of the Hogwarts Governors, you know.’

Harry looked at the offered hand and shook it. Soon, he was shaking Crabbe and Goyles’ hands too. They weren’t so bad after all. 

‘We thought we had lost you, Malfoy.’ Nott said. ‘Want to get a sandwich or something?’

‘Definitely not,’ Draco said with a disdainful sniff. ‘Anyhow, you can’t shake me off.’

Pansy shook Harry’s shoulder. ‘Draco said you’d be in Slytherin with us. You will, won’t you?’

Harry balked at the sudden touch. ‘I don’t know-’

‘Balderdash,’ said Crabbe. Draco looked at him strangely.

‘I think we’ve been outclassed by Crabbe’s vocabulary, boys,’ chortled Nott. ‘C’mon, Potter. You have to now.’

‘Have to?’ asked Harry.

‘I think he means that you have to be in Slytherin,’ said Pansy. She showed far too many teeth when she smiled. 

‘Yeah, we’ve all met you, after all,’ Nott reasoned. 

‘He’s met  _ you _ , Nott. That’s as good as any reason to not go into Slytherin,’ Draco said. Nott scowled. ‘Besides,’ continued Draco, ‘Potter said he’d like to keep an open mind.’ 

Harry could sense Draco wasn’t too fond of Harry’s idea. After all, Draco had made up his mind to be in Slytherin long before Harry even knew about magic. Yet he hadn’t said he  _ wouldn’t  _ teach Harry about the wizarding world if he was in a different House. It might make it a little more difficult.

‘I wouldn’t mind if you were in another House,’ said Goyle mildly.

It was Draco’s turn to scowl. ‘My house was decided long before I set foot in this village, Goyle. Same as you.’

‘I was talking to Nott, actually,’ Goyle replied. He sighed and began to uproot the grass beneath him with his feet. Crabbe thought this was a worthwhile goal and helped him with it as well. 

Fortunately, Nott changed the subject. ‘Oh look, boys! We get to see the Mud Relay!’

Harry was confused. He looked over to where Nott was pointing. A girl with large front teeth and bushy hair handed Professor McGonagall a candlestick and walked away slowly with Professor Sprout white as a sheet towards the First Year party. There wasn’t a spot of mud on her. Nor on any other person.

‘Her uniform looks neat to me,’ said Harry. It hadn’t rained either, so there was no mud around anywhere either.

‘It’s not the uniform,’ Nott sighed. ‘It’s the girl. All of  _ them _ .’

‘They’re so weird. What are those shoes?’ asked Crabbe, squinting at another boy’s trainers. Goyle looked over in interest as well. 

‘All of who?’ asked Harry. Surely they couldn’t have meant the First Years? There weren’t many left.

‘Mudbloods of course,’ replied Nott slowly. Harry stared blankly at him. ‘They arrive by Portkey. See those trinkets they’re passing? They’re permanent portkeys to the village. The professors go out, collect the Muds, and come back. That’s why it’s a relay.’

‘Technically it’s not a relay, as the Professors take different objects,’ Crabbe said, nodding sagely. Goyle looked at him curiously like he thought Crabbe had swallowed a smart person. 

Harry understood. Mudblood must be some sort of slur against Muggleborns. Why else wouldn’t they use the Floo?

‘It’s disgusting,’ Nott said with a scowl. ‘They shouldn’t be here, not like us.’

Harry scowled. ‘One of my favourite wizards in the world is a Muggleborn. My own mother was one too.’

‘Yes, well,’ Nott paled as he stuttered. ‘They’re the exception, of course.’

‘You have to understand Harry was raised by Muggles,’ Draco said to Nott. ‘He’s one of us, though. Look at the family ring on his finger.’ He pointed at Harry’s hand and looked at him apologetically. 

Harry knew all Purebloods weren’t bigots, but could tell that Draco’s friends were all really, really misinformed. He was deeply annoyed. Nott kept going on and on about how Mudbloods were scum.

Pansy reached for Harry’s hand. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t mind if I-’

‘Yes,’ Harry hissed, snatching his hand from Pansy’s grasp. She recoiled as if he were going to hit her. ‘Yes I  _ would  _ mind.’

Harry stood up, but his arm was held back by Draco whom Harry could swear was looking at him pleadingly.  _ Please don’t go _ , he seemed to be saying. Crabbe and Goyle also looked shocked that Harry was leaving so soon. 

He took a calming breath. ‘Sorry, Pansy.’

‘Something on your mind?’ asked Nott. Harry’s rage boiled over. 

‘For your information, Nott,’ Harry spat. ‘My mother would’ve done your so-called “Mud Relay” and if it weren’t for my guardians, so would I. And  _ proudly _ . Excuse me.’

Pansy looked white as a sheet. Harry took off even as Draco tried to call him back. He knew he was trying, but he couldn’t handle the ugly-minded bullies for much longer. He walked away. 

He watched the central village melt away into thin copses of pine trees. He was on a path. He found a large rock next to some boats and sat down, letting his anger roll off him. 

This was going to be harder than it looked to be friends with Draco. Or friends with his friends at least. 

‘Yeh alrigh’ there?’ a deep voice called. Harry turned his head. He saw a very large man coming towards him with a bushy beard and kind beetle-black eyes.

‘I’m fine,’ Harry said. ‘Do I need to come back?’

‘Nah, not yet,’ the man said. ‘But I can tell yeh’ve got something on yer mind.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Harry.

‘Looks ter me like yeh need ter, though,’ the man said. ‘Tell yeh what, I’ll listen ter what yeh have on yer mind, if yeh want, then I can try ter help.’

‘I don’t think you can,’ said Harry.

‘Nah, I don’ think that’s a bit true,’ the man said with a mighty shake of his head. ‘Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts.’

Harry turned to look at him. ‘I’m Harry,’ he said.

‘Blimey, of course yeh are!’ Hagrid exclaimed. ‘Look jus’ like yer mum and dad- a spittin’ image of James, you are. Mind if I sit next ter yeh? Rather hard to look down at yeh for all time.’

Harry patted the rock next to him. Hagrid gingerly sat down, or as gingerly as someone of his height could. ‘What’s on yer mind, Harry?’

‘I made a friend before I came. We’ve been writing to each other. He’s very different.’

‘All righ’, doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘Well he said something awful about… well, he said something in his letter about the wizarding world that I didn’t like and I didn’t take it well. He apologised today.’

‘Oh, well that’s good ter hear.’

‘Yes, but he has these friends. They’re - well, there’s one that’s just really awful. He kept going on and on about how Muggleborns were worthless scum.’

‘Probably a Slytherin,’ Hagrid said darkly. ‘That house doesn’t have the best reputation, mind.’

‘My friend wants me to be in Slytherin with him, but I haven’t made up my mind.’

‘Nah, can’ say I blame yeh. But then again, migh’ be a problem with his friends, not him.’

What House were you in, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Hufflepuff,’ Hagrid said proudly. ‘Bin of a workin’ mind me whole life. Never wanter ter be in Slytherin though. Not ambitious, y’see.’

‘That’s just it though,’ Harry said. ‘I promised I’d be in Slytherin with him. He was really nice actually.’

‘Yeh want ter be in  _ Slytherin  _ just so you’d be near yer friend?’ Hagrid said with surprise. Harry sunk lower as he nodded. Hagrid clapped Harry’s back and laughed uproariously. ‘Yeh wouldn’ believe how much this reminds me of the time yer Mum-’ he clicked his mouth shut.

‘What?’ Harry asked.

‘Forget it,’ Hagrid said, shaking his head. He turned to look at the lake. 

‘Hagrid, please. I really do want to know,’ Harry said. He looked up pleadingly at Hagrid.

Hagrid sighed. ‘Wasn’ my story ter tell yeh. ‘Alrigh’, I’ll tell yeh. But yeh can’ tell a soul, Harry. Not a soul.’

‘I’m good at keeping secrets,’ replied Harry.

Hagrid looked at him carefully but surrendered. ‘Yer mum knew Professor Snape,’ he began. Harry knew that already. ‘From before, y’know. They were fast friends throughout Hogwarts. An’ your father didn’t know her or Snape, see. So James came in with his friends: Sirius, Remus, an’ poor old Peter Pettigrew and started makin’ talk with yer mum. Even at that first meetin’, yer dad was smitten.

‘But yer mum was with Snape. They’d arrived together, same Portkey. Yer dad wanted ter talk to Lily, but kept insultin’ Snape’s clothes an’ such. She was havin’ none of it.’

Harry smiled. It was a happy thought.

‘She-’ Hagrid started laughing again. ‘S-she said “I’d rather be in Slytherin with Snape than wherever you race off to with your friends, Potter”, an’ squirted an eclair in the poor boy’s  _ eye _ .’

Harry laughed with Hagrid, the image hilarious to think about. 

‘Didn’ bother yer mum one bit ‘till she was sorted into Gryffindor,’ said Hagrid, his smile fading.

‘Why didn’t she go into Slytherin with Snape?’

‘Professor Snape,’ Hagrid corrected gently. ‘An’ because they don’ allow Muggleborns in Slytherin. Only House ter do it, mind.’

‘Why?’ Harry asked. He’d a feeling that it was because Slytherin was full of bullies and bigots like Nott. 

‘Long story,’ Hagrid shook his head. ‘Nah, she couldn’ make good on her promise ter Snape. Ah well, if she had - well, best not ter think o’ that.’

Harry smiled wanly. ‘Yeah. What should I do?’

Hagrid shrugged. ‘Seems like yeh’ve got a friend that means somethin’ ter yeh. You’re gonna find yer people, no doubt about that. Even in old mouldy Slytherin. Yeh’ve got time. Maybe yeh could convince a few to give up tha’ path for summat ter be proud of.’

‘Did you?’ asked Harry. ‘Find your people, I mean.’

‘In me own way,’ Hagrid said. His eyes flitted to the forest for a moment. ‘Ah, but you’re famous, an’ yeh seem to have a good head on yer shoulders, if nothin’ else.’

Harry smiled. ‘Thanks, Hagrid. Would you be my friend?’

‘O’ course I can,’ Hagrid said with a grin. ‘Tell yeh what, we can have tea, if yeh like. Always liked a good cuppa’ tea.’

Harry smiled. Hagrid had that in common with Andromeda. ‘I’d like that a lot.’ 

Hagrid nodded and clapped Harry’s back before getting to his feet. ‘C’mon, they got sandwiches back at th’ Three Broomsticks.’

Hagrid helped Harry up. The two of them walked back to the Three Broomsticks. 

‘Alrigh’, Harry,’ Hagrid said. ‘Yeh don’ mind if I go an’ mind the boats now, do yeh?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No. Would you please send me an owl when you want to have tea, please?’

‘O’course,’ said Hagrid. He smiled and went back to the lakeshore. Harry smiled as he watched Hagrid leave. 

Madame Rosmerta, the owner of the Three Broomsticks, had placed a tent on the side of the building, under which sat large dispensers of pumpkin juice and water as well as a massive plate of sandwiches of all sorts. The other First Years were mingling about with each other. Harry saw white blond hair and hesitated. He wanted to see Draco alone, away from his friends. 

He gritted his teeth and went in anyway, his head bowed to avoid people looking at his scar. He quickly grabbed two sandwiches and walked up the street. He didn’t want to be around Draco’s friends any more than he had to be right now.

As he walked, he felt a pair of eyes watching him. He ignored it until he heard the distinct clack of a shoe against the pavement. He turned and saw Professor Snape, his black robes and hair a sharp contrast from the colourful buildings around them. 

‘Oh, it's you,’ said Harry.

‘Expecting someone else?’ asked Professor Snape.

‘Yes, I was. Did Nott tell on me?’ asked Harry.

Professor Snape twitched his head. ‘Was there something to report?’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Harry said quickly.

‘What did he do, then?’ asked Professor Snape.

‘He was being a bigot. Not to me, but to the Muggleborns in the Portkey relay.’

Snape, if he was shocked or affected in any way by what Harry had said, didn’t show it. ‘Thank you for alerting me to this, Mr Potter. Be advised that the boats to Hogwarts depart in a half-hour. Do  _ not  _ be late.’ He turned with a swish of his cape and walked back.

Harry stood in the street holding his sandwiches, wondering what Snape was going to do. He sat at his bench and picked up his book, eating the sandwich. He looked at his wristwatch after he’d finished and worked out that he ought to go. 

He rushed back to the lakeshore. Draco was waiting for him. He joined Draco in his boat. 

‘Glad you're here,’ Draco said with a grin. 

‘All righ’, FORWARD!’ Hagrid bellowed, holding his umbrella like a general at a landing party. 

The fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood. 

The boats turned, giving the students a view of the Quidditch pitch and more of the castle, which was really quite a bit larger than Harry had anticipated. They sailed towards a large boathouse at the very bottom of a large staircase.

The staircase led up the cliff into a courtyard, which would probably put them close to their final destination if they were lucky. Harry was already dreading that climb. 

Harry got out of the boat with Hagrid’s help. As everyone got out of their own boats, Hagrid motioned them all up the stairs. Harry was one of the first up the mad dash to the top. They sprawled out into an open courtyard, where eight older students were there waiting for them as well as Professor McGonagall.

‘Welcome to Hogwarts,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘We hope that you will have a pleasant year. Before you are sorted, eight of our twenty-four Prefects each shall introduce themselves and escort groups of you around on a tour of the castle. The groups have been predetermined before your arrival. If you would, Mr Avery.’

A boy with a silver snake and green lining on his robes stepped up. Harry thought he was rather attractive. ‘Hullo everyone, I’m James Avery,’ he said. ‘I’m a Slytherin Prefect in my 5th Year. I’ll be escorting Mandy Brocklehurst, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, Quincy Rivers, and Lisa Turpin.’

The next was Percy Weasley, a Ravenclaw 5th-year prefect. He had curly ginger hair, a set of old-fashioned glasses, and an air of superiority. He was escorting Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Goyle, Li Sue-yen, and Ernest Macmillan. 

The introductions and group assignments after fell into the same routine. A Ravenclaw 6th year took on Crabbe and four others Harry had seen briefly in the tent. A rather ugly girl (Harry felt bad for thinking it) joined a 7th year Slytherin’s group, and a little boy with buck teeth was scrambling to find his toad when he was called to join a Gryffindor prefect’s group. 

Harry was wondering when he would be called. Sure enough, a Hufflepuff 6th year prefect with pigtails stepped forward. 

‘Hi, I’m Laura Hopkirk,’ she said. ‘I’ll be taking Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, H-..  _ Harry  _ Potter, Hermione Granger, and Tracey Davies. If you’d all follow me to the Gobstone area…’

Harry sighed as he heard murmurs and felt stares on him. Draco grinned, probably glad he wasn’t in a group with his ‘friends’. They followed Hopkirk to a chalk circle on one end of the courtyard. The six of them gathered around it. Harry noticed that the Muggleborn girl with bushy hair was in his group. 

‘Alright, let’s put names to faces,’ Laura said, clapping her hands. Harry jumped. ‘So, uh, say your name, favourite food, and what you did over the summer. Alright? Daphne, if you’d begin.’

A taller blond girl with striking blue eyes spoke first. ‘I’m Daphne Greengrass. I enjoy creme brulee. I went to my family estate in Burgundy.’

‘Next?’

‘I’m Draco Malfoy,’ Draco said, slightly puffing out his chest. Harry nearly laughed. ‘My favourite food has to be coq au vin. My mother and father took me to Malta for the summer. Charming place, really.’

There was a moment’s pause. Harry noticed Laura was looking at him expectantly. He racked his brains, trying to figure out something equally as impressive as going to Malta or Burgundy.

‘I’m Harry Potter. I think my favorite food is treacle tart. I.. I got new clothes.’

Draco and Daphne and the rest of them looked at him quizzically. Harry blushed.

The bushy-haired girl coughed. ‘I’m Hermione Granger. I definitely don’t know what my favorite food is, but I suppose if I had to guess I would choose tikka masala, or maybe peking duck... Oh! Maybe it’s-’

‘Granger,’ Draco snapped. She closed her mouth. Her cheeks pinked in embarrassment. 

Laura looked at Draco critically. She smiled at Hermione. ‘What did you do over the summer?’

‘I went to Greece,’ she said somewhat hesitantly. She seemed to have shut herself off. Harry sympathised. Draco was being a little bullish. 

‘And last but certainly not least, Tracey?’

Everyone’s attention turned to a small girl with a brown braid and green eyes. ‘I’m Tracey Davies,’ she said. ‘My favorite food is probably also coq au vin and I went to Blackpool with my dad.’

Laura clapped again. ‘Alright, folks. Let’s get you a tour of the castle. Don’t mind the ghosts, but  _ do  _ mind the trick steps. The castle is full of them. Stay with me and don’t wander off.’

Laura turned elegantly and marched them out of the courtyard. Harry smiled at McGonagall, who smiled back before discussing something last minute with Percy Weasley. Tracey and Daphne began chatting as they moved, and Hermione walked beside Laura in silence. Harry walked on with Draco.

‘Harry, I didn’t know Nott was going to say that,’ Draco whispered urgently. Harry tried to focus on what Laura was saying, but couldn’t really with Draco also trying to get his attention. 

‘It’s fine,’ murmured Harry. It really wasn’t, but it wasn’t Draco’s fault. 

‘... This is the Woodcroft Courtyard, named after one of our first students, Hengist of Woodcroft. There is a staircase here leading to the Potions Wing towards the entrance, as well as a corridor to the Black Lake on the right-hand side. We’ll move on to the viaduct bridge,’ said Laura. ‘If you don’t like heights, please don’t look down.’

They passed over the viaduct. Harry did look down, as he wasn’t afraid of heights at all. He didn’t see what the fuss was about. 

The tour continued. Draco murmured to Harry about how much he was looking forward to Potions as they came to the entrance to the Potions Wing. The tour stopped at the Library on the second floor. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a very mean looking witch wearing what Harry and other Muggleborns would think of as a witch costume: all black and with a buckle around her pointed hat.

‘This is the Hogwarts Library, founded initially as Rowena Ravenclaw’s own private collection,’ she whispered, looking at them all imperiously. ‘As its custodian, I will tolerate no disrespect or tomfoolery with and amongst any of its contents. Should you persist as a nuisance, miscreant, or vandal, the consequences will be as severe as I can make them.’

Pince was rather more mean than Harry had thought, but Hermione Granger was grinning like a loon looking around the place. Harry knew it was far larger than the one at St. Grogory’s and infinitely nicer. Dora had told Harry about how she used to kiss boys in the Transfiguration section. Harry thought that was gross. 

‘The Restricted Section is as it sounds- restricted,’ Pince continued. ‘However, should you later in your career find yourself in need of one of its volumes, by all means ask a teacher for a permission slip. In any case, be diligent and disciplined in your studies.’ She turned and went back to her desk without fanfare. 

They had time to look around, but only just. The next stop was a portrait of an old man in a strange version of a three-piece suit, with moon-shaped buttons and a frilled collar, his bow tie shaped also like moons. The frame around it was door-shaped and either made of gold or painted with it. As they approached, the man within gave them a little wave, which startled Harry and Hermione Granger but no one else. 

‘As you have seen, the portraits can move,’ Laura said. ‘Some do much more than that. Professor Basil Fronsac here guards a passageway to the Hogwarts Greenhouses. If you are sorted into Slytherin, this will be the primary means for you to reach the Greenhouses to get to Herbology. Otherwise, it’s a fifteen minute walk.’

Harry didn’t like the sound of a fifteen minute walk up these corridors and staircases. He’d keep an eye out for the portraits in door-shaped frames.

‘Each guardian portrait has their own password or other means of entry that changes every fortnight.’

Tracey Davies raised her hand. ‘Where do we get the passwords for the portraits?’

Professor Fronsac answered in his gravelly voice: ‘The portraits’ passwords are listed on a notice board outside the office of the caretaker, Mr. Argus Filch, near the portrait of Grunnhilde Babcock below the Hospital Wing on the second floor.’

‘Alright, ready for your first portrait passage?’ Laura asked. ‘Begonia!’ 

Professor Fronsac inclined his head. His portrait swung inward like a door. Harry and the group entered the tunnel, which was well-lit and dry. 

At the other end, an identical copy of Professor Fronsac’s portrait opened to the Greenhouses. Harry thought that perhaps Snape was right: this place was nothing like Aunt Petunia’s garden. While it was orderly, there were pots everywhere. Laura opened a door into Greenhouse One, where there were several red plants battling each other with their fronds. 

The tour continued. They passed through the greenhouse complex and had a quick view of both the Quidditch Pitch and the Owlery. The group reentered the building, saw the Astronomy Tower entrance near the Transfiguration Courtyard, and went back up the stairs to the Library. 

Temeritus Shanks, an excitable gossip of a wizard, was another portrait guardian based on the opposite side of the library, with his portrait leading to the Grand Staircase. With a barked “Happy Headlines”, the door swung open. The passage didn’t seem quite as logical as Professor Fronsac’s but nevertheless it worked.

Laura pointed out the portraits leading to the Hospital Wing (giving the group their current passwords), and noted which corridors led to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dormitories. 

The tour ended far sooner than Harry had anticipated, and they were on the other side of the large wooden doors leading back into the entrance courtyard, separated by a hall and a large staircase. 

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them beside another set of bronze double doors. Harry could hear a general ruckus within. A short while later, the groups reunited. 

‘The Sorting will begin shortly,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Please form a line and follow me.’

The groups did so and entered the hall. 

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. 

At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. 

He heard Hermione whisper, ‘It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.’ 

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open up to the heavens. Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. 

Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it in the house.

Harry didn’t care much anymore what Aunt Petunia thought. 

He waited for his name to be called. 

He was ready to become a proper wizard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize, as always, is taken or inspired by the original canon. I claim nothing. 
> 
> I'd like to apologize for any plot glitches moving forward. I'm going through a rather crucial rewriting process for this book. If you notice an inconsistency or anything else, please let me know. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you've enjoyed. I will be moving to one chapter a week from now on. Lots of stuff going on behind the scenes.


	9. The Underwater Manse

‘Oh look, boys! We get to see the Mud Relay!’ Nott had yelled. Draco hadn’t minded at the time. He was just too excited to see Harry so soon. He really lost control of the situation. Nott just  _ had  _ to open his mouth and ruin Draco’s tenuous truce with Harry. 

Draco had tried to make no mention of Harry’s ancestry or say something insulting about Mudbloods in general, though it was true that it was inferior to his own. His mother wanted him to try and forget the distinction between him and Harry. 

‘Well,’ Nott said with a cough after Harry left. ‘I can see why you were so  _ excited  _ for us to meet him.’

After Harry left, Draco wheeled around to look at Nott. ‘You just had to say it.’

‘He’s not “one of us”, Malfoy,’ Nott said. ‘My father-’

‘We’re at Hogwarts,’ Crabbe said. ‘What our fathers want doesn’t enter into it.’

‘So I’ll guess you’ll stop hanging off Malfoy like a kicked dog?’

‘That’s uncalled for, Nott,’ said Pansy. 

‘You can’t have it both ways,’ Nott reminded Draco. ‘Either we’re your friends or he is.’

Draco glared at Nott. He was no blood traitor. Harry did nothing wrong by being a halfblood - his father was to blame. Never Harry. Draco did want to be friends with Harry before he had met the boy in Madam Malkin’s, and also wanted a real friend besides. The connection was valid for Draco to make, as even his father sanctioned it. Who was Nott to argue with that? 

Draco surged towards the tent outside of the Three Broomsticks. Draco knew it was nothing compared to food at the Manor, but he simply had to have something before he choked Nott with his own shoelaces. 

He found something, a tuna and egg salad sandwich. For once not caring a bit about his appearance, Draco stood away, the murderous look in his eyes warning anyone who seemed confident enough to approach him to back off. 

‘I’m nothing like them,’ Draco thought. ‘I actually wanted to be your friend. I still want to be your friend. Pansy scoffed at the idea, Nott seemed almost giddy at sabotaging me. Me.’

‘Draco?’ Pansy called for him. Draco looked around and felt a tap on his shoulder. He stormed away, dropping his half-eaten sandwich. He didn’t even  _ like  _ tuna. 

‘Draco! Please, I just want to talk to you.’

‘What about?’ Draco spat. ‘A dance? Did Greengrass pull your hair the other day? Has your mother stopped breathing?’

Pansy looked hurt. ‘You never talk about my mother. I thought…’

‘You thought wrong!’ Draco yelled. Pansy began to cry. 

‘I thought Hogwarts would ch-change things…’ Pansy said. Draco was confused. His anger fled him.

‘Pansy-’

‘Don’t say it, Malfoy!’ she cried.

‘I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just mad at Nott. We’re friends-’

‘We were never friends,’ Pansy snapped, wiping away a tear. ‘“This is Pansy, she’s a girl.” Do you remember saying that? You speak to us like we’re nothing to you.’

‘It’s true though, you are a girl,’ Draco said. That clearly was the wrong thing to say. Pansy began to cry even more. Draco thought about what his mother did when he was really upset. 

He wrapped his arms around Pansy. She tried to resist but Draco held on. Slowly, she relaxed. Draco rocked her slowly back and forth, not caring a whit that she was ruining his silk shirt. 

‘It was wrong of me to say,’ Draco whispered to her. ‘I know how hard it would be… well. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘You hardly ever think,’ Pansy mumbled. Draco knew he should be furious, but it wasn’t what Mother would’ve done. 

‘I do too,’ he said defensively. ‘Just not when it matters.”

Pansy cracked a watery smile. ‘Why did you want us to meet Potter?’

‘My parents wanted me to be friends with him,’ Draco said. ‘I had the idea first. I thought I could treat him as an equal. I thought I could have someone different as a friend, you know?’

‘Different than me?’ Pansy asked, looking up at Draco. 

‘I… you know we can’t really be, well-’

‘Maybe Crabbe was right. Maybe it doesn’t matter what our parents say about who we should be friends with.’

Draco was uncomfortable with the idea, but made a noncommittal noise. ‘I can’t really have a similar relationship with Harry.’

‘You know they really like you, right? Crabbe and Goyle, I mean.’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Draco said. ‘Mother seemed to only allow this one exception.’

‘I’m not asking you to become friends with Mudbloods, Draco. I just want you to treat Greg, Vincent, and I like you’d treat Harry.’

‘I… I don’t know,’ Draco confessed. ‘I don’t think Mother and Father would-’

‘Draco, Potter’s one of us,’ Pansy said. ‘If he’ll be friends with us at all, nothing else matters.’

‘We’ll have to stop talking about Mudbloods so much.’

‘Have you ever seen one?’

‘Just because I’ve never seen one doesn’t mean I don’t have to like them,’ Draco said. ‘Do you want a niffler in your closet?’

‘I’ve never seen a niffler,’ Pansy said.

‘Exactly.’

They both laughed at that. He supposed Pansy was tolerable. 

After their rather pitiful tour by a Hufflepuff, Draco couldn’t wait for his true skill: matching names to lineages. The Sorting Ceremony would prove a useful outlet to get his mind off his impending tasks: cement his friendship with Harry by any means, appease Pansy, and keep his mother and father off his trail for a little while longer. Plus, it would be helpful to know who he would be rooming with for the next seven years. 

Draco saw the Sorting Hat, the tatty ancient hat that would decide their fate, resting on a spindly stool next to Professor McGonagall. The hat rose, its flaps and wrinkles forming a good representation of a face. The hat began to speak:

"The hallowed halls, alike to days of old

open wide for thee to hone thy power

The wait is o'er, thy journey done. Now hold!

The path to glory lingers on this hour.

"Before adventures or stories unfold, 

The Unsorted will confront the crossroad

To them, great tidings. Now to be strowed:"

"Perhaps Gryffindor brave, Ravenclaw wise,

Hufflepuff honest, Slytherin sourceful,

you'll belong, and in an old hat's assize:

Nary one do I view as remorseful. 

"What hour is this? The Sorting! Fret ne'ermore.

Never I will an ill placement condone:

Through destiny's hand, I show your own.

After the Sorting Hat’s poem, there was a polite round of applause. Professor McGonagall came to the front and unfurled a long parchment to call out people’s names. Draco mentally prepared himself to memorize who of status went into what House. 

‘Abbott, Hannah!’ was an easy Sort. The blond girl with pigtails had barely been up there a minute before she was sorted into the House of Duffers, Hufflepuff. Her mother had soiled the family name by marrying a Muggle. 

‘Bletchley, Lawrence!’ was more difficult it seems. Draco knew his elder brother Miles was the Keeper on the Slytherin Quidditch team, but that his mother’s family tended to be sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Nevertheless, he became the first Slytherin to much applause. 

Susan Bones lost nearly her entire family to You-Know-Who during the War, a “shame” his father had called it. They were about as pure as most houses could be without inbreeding, with many different ties to Europe. Her aunt was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers as she joined them.

Lord Boot’s youngest, Terry, with curly hair and neat, if old-fashioned, robes, was next and became the first Ravenclaw to be sorted. Lady Brown’s daughter Lavender wore some sort of complicated braid and was sorted into Hufflepuff. Neither were of much consequence. 

‘Bulstrode, Millicent!’ joined the Slytherin table, ‘Carrow, Frances!’ and ‘Corner, Michael!’ the Ravenclaw table. Bullstrode lived up to her family’s reputation for the appearance of being ugly halfwits though he had heard from Pansy that she was a cut above in both categories: how much of a cut above remained to be seen, at least in the smarts department. Clearly she was quite unbecoming.

Crabbe and Goyle were both naturally sorted into Slytherin to polite applause from their table. He couldn’t imagine either in any other house except Hufflepuff. They each gave him a thumbs up as they sat near Lawrence Bletchley, who seemed a bit frightened by the two of them. 

Then came two girls from Draco’s tour group. The fussy busybody Granger (to Draco’s delight) was sorted into Hufflepuff. He hoped she enjoyed the co-ed single room Hufflepuffs seemed all too willing to sleep in - not! Daphne Greengrass continued her family tradition of being sorted into Slytherin, while to Draco’s surprise, the Duffer Neville Longbottom was not sorted into Hufflepuff but became the first Gryffindor of consequence. 

Two less consequential members of society, Morag MacDougal and Ernest Macmillan, were sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively. Their families had never been invited to a Malfoy New Year’s Ball. Heavens knows why -

‘Malfoy, Draco!’ McGonagall called. Draco strode confidently towards the stool. The hat had barely touched his blond hair before the hat called ‘SLYTHERIN!’

_ Thank Merlin _ , Draco thought. He joined the Slytherin table, sitting between Crabbe and Goyle. He could still see the action, too! He watched as Gnaeus McLaggen’s youngest son Cailean was sorted into Gryffindor. Urgh. 

Unfortunately, Nott came a minute later, his perfectly-punchable face smirking across the table from him. Pansy made him scoot over to the other side of Bletchley when she joined them. 

Draco looked over to see Harry deep in concentration. He seemed to be arguing with the hat. Draco closed his eyes and bowed his head, sending a prayer to whatever spirit or entity would hear him to please, please, please put Harry into Slytherin-

‘SLYTHERIN!’ the Hat called. 

Draco was one of the first to clap. He noticed few others had clapped for Harry even at his own table, and so stopped clapping himself. Who cared if the rest of the hall looked like their pet Kneazle died? Harry was theirs. Harry was his. 

‘Potter!’ Crabbe called. Harry looked over and took a seat next to Lawrence Bletchley, who looked ready to faint. In all this excitement, Draco had forgotten to listen as Hilda Runcorn, Dorea Shafiq, and Zacharias Smith were sorted each in quick succession into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. 

‘Dear Merlin, there’s a lot of Puffs this year,’ Marcus Flint, the quidditch captain exclaimed. Draco would agree. Far too many Duffers for his liking. 

Fortunately the sting of seeing so many Duffers was remedied when Draco saw yet another Weasley join the Gryffindor table, followed by Blaise Zabini, a relatively new item on the Pureblood circuit, join Nott towards the end of the table. Professor McGonagall rolled her scroll up and took her place at the High Table. 

Headmaster Dumbledore rose. ‘A very good evening to you all. Before we all become quite distracted by our lovely feast, I have a few start of term notices. First off, Mr Filch had asked me to remind you that magic is strictly prohibited in the corridors. Additionally, a list of contraband items as well as a list of passwords for some of our more vital portrait passages are located at his office on the second floor. 

‘Furthermore, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is closed temporarily for renovations. A Prefect or Professor will be monitoring access to this corridor; please do not disturb their good work.

‘To all first years and to some of our more… mischievous older students,’ Dumbledore spared a significant glance at two elder Weasleys at the Gryffindor table, ‘the forest surrounding the school is out of bounds for your safety. It is forbidden to travel there.

‘Now, with those things in mind,’ Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘Tuck in!’

A dazzling feast of roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire puddings, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs appeared on the tables between each person, with flagons of water, punch, and pumpkin juice also taking flight to pour their contents into each goblet. 

Draco noticed that Harry looked delighted by the display. He nearly scoffed, until he remembered why Harry was amazed; he’d never seen real magic before this year. Stupid Muggles. 

Draco noticed Bletchley was all but staring at Harry, with Harry looking particularly embarrassed. Draco coughed. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare, Bletchley?’

Bletchley’s face went red. ‘S-sorry…’

‘Go sit with your brother,’ Draco all but ordered. Bletchley and Harry both looked hurt by what Draco was saying. ‘Go!’

Bletchley shot up and went to the other end of the table. The game had begun in earnest. 

‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Harry said. 

‘You’re right,’ Draco replied, ‘I didn’t. I was getting rather tired of him drooling over you.’

‘I was fine,’ Harry said. 

Nott scoffed. ‘Bletchley always has been a bit of a Huffleduffer himself. I’m surprised he didn’t join them.’

‘Don’t catch his brother hearing you say that,’ said Pansy neutrally. Harry looked down at his food, which Draco took as a victory. When Harry did look up again, he was focused on the staff table. He flinched, gasping in pain and clutching at his scar. 

‘What is it, Potter?’ asked Draco. 

‘Who’s that professor next to Snape?’ he asked instead of answering.

‘Professor Quirrell,’ Pansy replied. ‘He was the Muggle Studies lecturer before, about two years ago. Father went to school with him. Now he’s the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.’

‘He came back from Estonia or suchlike with a stutter,’ Goyle said. He suitably impressed Draco, who hadn’t heard a thing about Quirrell. 

‘Poor bugger,’ said Crabbe. He handed Goyle a mint humbug, who took it graciously. 

‘Why?’ asked Harry. 

‘No one knows,’ Pansy said idly. Her eyes widened. ‘Oh look, the ghosts!’

Sure enough, the House ghosts and a few others descended from the enchanted ceiling and through the doors. They took to dancing above their heads. The Fat Friar of Hufflepuff House spun Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost in a very humorous dance while the Heartless Housecarl and the Grey Lady kept to a more respectable waltz. 

Draco could also see several knights guarding the door, while the ghosts of students long-dead sat with their new housemates and traded stories as if they were still alive. He smirked as he noticed Nott was being chatted up by a young milkmaid-looking type from the Ravenclaw table. No doubt she was also a Mudblood. 

After dinner, the plates and goblets cleared themselves to sparkling perfection before filling once more, this time with all sorts of tasty desserts. Blocks of ice cream, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, rice pudding. 

Draco helped himself to a spot of baklava drizzled with elderflower honey, but didn’t eat much of it. The conversation around him had turned, unsurprisingly, to the society news that unfolded before their very eyes- where people were sorted. Harry looked wholly disinterested. He seemed to be enjoying his treacle tart tremendously, however. Draco couldn’t fault Harry so much for that. It looked excellent. There were more important things though. 

‘Nott, why don’t you talk to Zabini? I’m sure he is quite befuddled by all this,’ said Draco.

‘His mum went here, how-’

‘I seem to remember that I outrank you,’ said Draco airily. He really didn’t, but had Nott convinced that he was. Nott clammed up and marched over. 

‘What was that about? I thought-’

‘I just wanted to get rid of him too,’ Draco said. ‘He did say something unfortunate to you, after all. Should I bring him back?’

‘No,’ said Harry rather carefully. 

‘I should tell you that we’ve got a poor reputation in the other houses,’ Draco said. ‘That’s the first thing you should know.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Harry said. ‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’

‘You don’t have much of a choice,’ Pansy said. ‘After you’re sorted, it’s a done deal.’

Draco noticed Harry’s expression change ever so slightly. ‘They wanted Potter all to themselves, but they would’ve been fine if he’d been in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Merlin forbid even Hufflepuff. But going into Slytherin?’ Draco scoffed. ‘I don’t think they’ll ever forgive you.’

‘Why would they care?’

‘This was You-Know-Who’s House when he was at Hogwarts,’ whispered Pansy. 

‘Voldemort went here?’ Harry asked.

‘Don’t say the name!’ Crabbe exclaimed. Draco saw Nott looking over.

‘Of course he did,’ Draco drawled. ‘You think he’d be anywhere else?

‘Our founder also wanted to kick out all the Muggleborns from the school,’ Draco continued. ‘He did try, but…’

‘That’s sick,’ said Harry with disgust. Draco shrugged. He wasn’t going to press the issue. Harry would have to learn the hard way, if at all. 

‘We do have rules of course,’ Pansy said. ‘the most House rules of all. For our own protection and for theirs.’

‘Like no Muggleborns?’ asked Harry.  _ Naturally _ , thought Draco. 

‘Out of principle,’ replied Goyle. Harry scowled at that. Quite unnatural in Draco’s opinion. He would try to keep their differences from causing tension in future.

‘What about dark magic?’ asked Harry. ‘Is that taught too?’

‘Merlin, no,’ Draco said, laughing a bit at Harry’s expense. What a dull question from a beautifully curious person. ‘Believing in Slytherin’s mission doesn’t mean we’re all dark wizards, Potter.’

‘Besides, no one wants to teach school children dark magic,’ added Pansy.  _ Not here anyway _ , Draco thought. 

‘Well, this is all very interesting,’ said Harry. He went back to eating his treacle tart. Draco knew this was a sign that Harry found this all repulsive like his mother found machine-made rugs repulsive: categorically. Harry would have to get used to this sort of talk if he wanted to survive. 

Draco smirked. ‘Welcome to the Firm, Potter.’ Pansy tittered at Draco’s joke. ‘Those colours,’ Draco gestured to Harry’s newly-changed robe and tie, ‘They mean you’re family. Even Nott’s family.’

‘You  _ like  _ Nott,’ Harry said. Draco scoffed. Nott had always been a thorn in Draco’s side, Draco just hadn’t realised how much of one he truly was. He was less tolerable than Pansy was. 

Pansy leaned in to whisper to Harry, who hesitated but nevertheless listened. No doubt she was informing him of some lurid story about Nott. Draco stirred his vanilla ice cream around in its bowl. Harry laughed aloud, and Pansy giggled with him. Ah, so it was the story about Nott and the lilypad.

Lord Tarquinius had invited them all to Scamander Green, which was adjacent to one of the Nott estates, for Nott’s seventh birthday. Nott liked frogs at the time. He understood that frogs rested on lily pads and found a rather large one in a pond. Suffice to say, Nott didn’t get a drying charm and had to walk back to the property. It was Pansy’s favourite story. Draco thought it was pitiful. 

Professor Dumbledore rose and tapped his wand against his glass goblet, making a sound far louder than a simple spoon might. Everyone’s turned to look at the Professor. The desserts disappeared with another shimmer of magic, much to Crabbe’s disappointment. 

‘Now that we have all been well sated, let us away to our dormitories post-haste!’ Dumbledore exclaimed. ‘Prefects, please guide your new First Years to their dormitories. Tally-ho!’

Dumbledore flicked his wand, which opened the doors to the Great Hall. The other tables scrambled, the older years hurrying off while Prefects tried in vain to gather their First Years. 

The Slytherins waited patiently for the ruckus to slacken off. With what seemed like great coordinated effort, the Slytherins (except for Harry and maybe one or two others) rose as one. The older years walked off together once the last few Ravenclaws had finished their glasses of pumpkin juice or whatever. 

A line of Slytherin prefects stood at the end of the table. The first years all but marched over to them and were handed a roll of parchment closed by a green wax seal. They were no doubt the house rules. After all, his Father told him that being Sorted into Slytherin doesn’t make one truly a Slytherin: it’s following the house rules that does it. 

‘Follow on,’ said the eldest prefect, a willowy girl with thick braids, as she waved her hand onwards. They lurched forward, following her out to the Entrance Courtyard, into the Woodcroft Courtyard, and down the stairs into the Slytherin wing of the dungeons. 

The air was cold and damp down here, like the unused cellars at Malfoy Manor. As they went closer to the dormitories, the torches glowed with green light. Two dozen portraits of witches and wizards stretching back to Hogwarts’ founding, the Heads of Slytherin House before, lined the corridor and acknowledged the first years as they approached. 

Draco spared a glance to the wall facing them, seeing the lighter bits of brick where Salazar Slytherin’s own portrait had been. It was a shame that the portrait had been moved elsewhere. Where it was, Father hadn’t said.

Standing before the blank wall, the lead prefect stepped forward and said the week’s password, ‘Serenity.’

The wall’s bricks peeled away to form an archway that led to the common room. 

The lead prefect stepped through and into a space Draco hadn’t exactly dreamed of being in. It was more like his second homecoming. He’d always known he’d be in Slytherin. If he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin, his Father would have delighted in the prospect of sending Draco to Durmstrang. 

The common room seemed to be grown out of the lake floor with smooth and twisting soapstone as much as it was built out from the cliff bottom with large limestone bricks. Bare columns etched with ancient runes held up the ceiling that flickered every so often with a dull white light. Thick glass panes worked up one side of the room letting in ghostly green moonlight. 

On the opposite end was a large fireplace with an elaborately carved mantelpiece. What corners the light didn’t touch were otherwise lit by green bell-shaped lamps. As for furniture, the room was filled with fauteuils upholstered with woven marine designs and writing desks, deep chaise lounges with coffee tables, and dragonhide-bound bergères and pouffes with end tables, all of it carved out of mahogany. Not to mention the high-backed wing chairs and sofas near the fireplace or the window seats nearest the wall of glass. 

Draco loved it. 

Professor Snape swept out of a corridor, no doubt leading to the bedrooms, and gathered them all next to the large fireplace. The flames behind him made him seem infernal, authoritarian, and draconic. Draco supposed this was the mood Snape wished to set. Looking at his classmates, it took hold rather easily.

‘You have been selected to join the prestigious house of Slytherin,’ he said softly. ‘You have been granted access to its treasures, its secrets, and its vast and…  _ exquisite  _ social network, for your life here and your life beyond. Open the scroll you received upon the conclusion of the Start-of-Term feast. Read it. Memorize it. Act on it. 

‘Do not disappoint me, your relatives, or this great House,’ Professor Snape continued, crossing his arms, ‘The rewards for your… restraint will be plentiful if often subtle. Learn to utilize your resources properly. More ancillary announcements will be made by your Lead Prefect, Honoria Blackburn. That is all.’

The gaggle of First Years parted as their Head of House strode back to the dungeons, but not before he handed Honoria Blackburn a tightly-wound scroll. 

Honoria stepped forward. ‘The noticeboard near the entrance will have notification of upcoming functions, club signups, etcetera,’ she said. ‘The password to the common room will be changed every fortnight. Consider this your first secret of our house to keep, if you like. 

She unravelled the scroll. ‘These are the room assignments,’ she said. ‘Your rooms are on the seventh landing and can be reached through the hallway Professor Snape entered from. The doors will only open to you, the Prefects, and Professor Snape himself.  _ Anyhow _ ...’

She rattled off who went in which room. To their delight, Pansy and Greengrass were in a room with Tracey Davies next door, whilst Bulstrode and a half-blood Alice Spinks (part of a third-rate line related to the Crouches) occupied the third. Crabbe and Goyle, Nott and Zabini each were their roommates. Draco waited eagerly.

‘Room Five, Potter and Malfoy,’ Blackburn rattled off. Draco nearly jumped for joy but settled for a slight smirk he was sure Harry hadn’t noticed. Harry himself had blushed. ‘Room Six, Bletchley. Off to bed, all of you.’

The First Years bolted off to their new rooms. Draco strode in after Harry, the stone slab covering their door allowing him to pass through unhindered. He smirked, knowing that Nott couldn’t get any sort of petty revenge on Draco whilst in the dorm, even if he managed to circumvent the Rules.

Draco liked the room well enough. Like the common room, they had one side of the wall made of glass with thick curtains blocking most of the green light out should they wish (and at seven thirty as well if Father was to be believed). There were also two four-poster beds, two writing desks with reclining chairs, two lamps, and two wardrobes. 

‘We ought to read them now,’ Draco said. ‘The Rules, I mean. We should read them now.’

Harry didn’t acknowledge him. Draco frowned and cracked open the seal on the roll of parchment he was given, as did Harry. Draco read the Rules to himself. 

Slytherin House is guided by four principles handed down by our venerable founder. The rules and principles herein are derived from his teachings given to the first generations of Slytherins. These maxims serve as a further, stricter standard on Slytherin House that Slytherin himself felt necessary to impose in addition to the wider ruleset enjoyed by the school at-large. You will follow all of these rules as if your life depended on it: your standing within the house  _ does _ . 

Principle One: We in Slytherin are one unified body.

  * You will assist any House member in need should they ask for it.
  * You will keep your housemate's secrets and that of your House.
  * You will not accuse a fellow housemate of anything you know they did not commit.



Principle Two: A Slytherin treads softly until they are prepared to strike.

  * You will keep any dispute with your housemates within the House.
  * You will not attack your own Housemate. Should you do so, the offended is obligated to respond with equal or greater force to the satisfaction of the Head of House.
  * You will utilise the proper channels with a dispute outside the House.



Principle Three: A careless gesture by one Slytherin is a slight against all Slytherins. 

  * You will complete all assignments and tasks; you will leave nothing undone or unmade.
  * You will not be tardy to any engagement or shirk responsibility. 
  * You will not show disrespect to any who have authority over you.



Principle Four: A Slytherin’s habits ought not to call unwarranted negative attention to themselves. 

  * You will maintain proper hygiene and standard of physical and mental health. 
  * You will practice proper dining and social etiquette.
  * You will wear the prescribed uniform at all times outside of the dormitory.



Draco folded up the rules and placed it on his desk. He looked over, noticing Harry was also reading them and looked extremely worried about it. It wasn’t Draco’s problem. Not yet.

Draco sensed that Harry had never shared a room, just as Draco hadn’t. While he was pleased at the similarity, it meant that he was even more quiet than usual. Draco thought they’d have a long chat into the night, but he guessed Harry wasn’t ready for that. Draco would just have to ask him, as it wasn’t improper in these situations. First, he ought to inspect his side of the room. If nothing else, it would take his mind off his parents’ mission for a little while longer. 

Draco looked in his wardrobe, a plain mahogany thing with snake-shaped handles. He saw his clothes neatly stored and his shoes freshly polished within, a drawer insert containing his jewelry and socks. It was clear that Norry had visited during the feast. Draco smiled at the thought. He already missed his house elf. 

Draco reached into his cupboard and took out a rolled Wimbourne Wasps poster. His mother had packed it for him as they were Draco’s favourite team. Draco took out his wand and spoke an incantation for a Sticking Charm,  _ Inhaerite _ . He quickly smoothed out the poster onto the cool stone wall. 

Draco padded over to a recessed portion of the middle back wall. He placed a hand on the door and it opened into a lavatory and bathroom. He walked around the large shower bedecked in silver ornamentation and felt its taps for hot, cold, and bubble water. Draco’s own tub had another for fizzing water. He supposed Hogwarts couldn’t afford to have a fizzing tap in every room on every floor in every house. Pity. 

As he left the washroom, Draco saw Harry unfolding and storing his clothes into his own wardrobe. He had never seen a wizard putting his own clothes away. It had never been done in Malfoy Manor. Draco would probably burst into flames before he did it himself. Draco  _ was  _ going to ask a snarky question about where his house elf was, but remembered that Harry grew up with Muggles and therefore didn’t have a house elf. Stupid Muggles. 

‘So… you used to live with Muggles?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said quietly. He continued to unpack. 

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

Draco understood that. He’d also not want to talk about it. He noticed Harry had begun to cry. Draco couldn’t help himself. He launched himself at Harry and guided him down to the bed. 

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Harry said. ‘Forget it.’

Draco shook his head. ‘I’m not stupid. Tell me what it is.’

‘Not this. I can’t-’

Draco raised his hands, not sure if he was going to hug Harry or not. It wasn’t the thing to do. Normally, he’d have to tell Harry to quit crying. This wasn’t a normal time for anything it seemed. He hugged Harry. Harry froze. 

Draco backed off and sped away. 

‘Wait - I like hugs,’ Harry said. ‘It drove Uncle Vernon mad, but I hugged my friend Mark whenever we saw each other. And now I’ll never see him again-’

Hesitantly, Draco hugged Harry again. Why was this the hugging-comfort sort of day? It was undignified. Well, if it made Harry like him, then Draco was all for it. 

‘What happened?’

‘I -’ Harry got a gulp of air. Draco frowned. He was a sympathetic crier. He hoped he didn’t start now. ‘My aunt and uncle kicked me out. They used some law, and… I didn’t have time, I couldn’t tell Mark why I was going because it’s all some big secret. 

‘Dudley was the one who beat on me. Dudley was the one to call Mark and I names. Why wasn’t he the one to get kicked out? Why me?’

‘I don’t know, Harry. I wouldn’t kick you out.’

Harry looked up at him. ‘You would if I didn’t have magic.’

Draco stiffened. That was remarkably true. ‘I wouldn’t. You’re my friend. You’re stuck with me until the end. Magic or no magic.’

‘I thought it would be different. I thought I’d be all right in Slytherin, but I didn’t know how bad it was. All these rules-’

‘It’s not all bad. You have me. Pansy’s all right, and so are… Vincent and Gregory, right?’ Draco said. Really, he might wish to reexamine his view of them. They would be useful in securing this relationship.

‘You all don’t know any better,’ murmured Harry. 

‘Hmm?’ asked Draco.

Harry gave a watery smile. ‘Nothing.’

‘Harry, you’re one of us in more ways than one. You’re my friend and a Slytherin, so you’re set. You’re all but royalty too in our society, and even without that you’re Harry  _ bloody  _ Potter. Who cares what Muggles think? Damn them all, I say. They hurt my friend and I won’t have it.’

‘But Mark was my friend. I cared-’

‘I know. I know, Harry. I mean what I said. I’m going to help you be the best wizard you can possibly be so we can prove those Muggles wrong.’

‘Why are you so mean to everyone?’ asked Harry, changing the subject. 

Draco scoffed. ‘I’m not  _ mean _ .  _ Mean _ would be hexing, and I don’t know a whole lot of hexes yet.’ Harry looked at him critically. ‘Power is respect, respect is power.’

Harry’s expression softened. ‘That’s weird.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. I am going to… amend the situation with Bletchley.’

‘Call him Lawrence.’

Draco let out a long suffering sigh. ‘You ask too much of me, Harry.’

‘Fine. Thanks, Draco. That means a lot to me.’

Draco let go, relieved his shoulder-crying duty was done. He was… well, he felt awkward that he’d done it, but he meant every word. Most every word. Damn those Muggles to the depths, the lot of them. 

Harry was having none of it. As Draco left the bed, Harry tackled him and hugged him tightly, rocking him back and forth like Draco did with Flameo years ago. 

‘Harry- this isn’t-’ Draco wiggled and tried to get out. ‘I really must- You must unpack. You must- It’s bad luck to not unpack before classes!’

‘I can do it tomorrow,’ said Harry, releasing Draco at last. 

Draco shook his head emphatically. ‘Absolutely not, I forbid it.’

‘Alright, I’ll do it now,’ he said. ‘Er, but could you do it?’

‘Absolutely not!’ exclaimed Draco.

‘Well, you did say you’d show me magic,’ he said. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, of course.’

‘I-’

‘Don’t worry, I can do it myself.’

Draco rolled his eyes. He nearly snapped at Harry but that would’ve been counterproductive. He took his wand from its box and pointed it at Harry’s trunk. ‘Volite,’ he incanted.

The trunk floated over to Harry’s wardrobe and set itself at the bottom. Harry grinned. 

‘Finite,’ Draco called. It set down with a soft plunk. Harry jumped.

‘Cludo,’ Draco said. The door swung shut. Harry began to clap. It was very undignified.

Draco smirked, still in awe of how Harry could be so enamoured with simple charms. 

‘Alright then,’ Draco said. He wiped a nonexistent bit of fluff off his sleeve. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to send a letter to my parents.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said. He looked sheepish. ‘Can you do more magic?’

Draco rolled his eyes again. He flicked his wand. Another charm closed the curtain, blocking the moonlight. Yet another shot a blue flame into the lamp on Draco’s desk. Harry clapped again and Draco laughed at him. Harry looked at the bluebell flame in the lamp for a moment before turning to read his History of Magic textbook. 

Draco sat on his desk chair, finding it rather more comfortable than he expected. In this chair, he would probably think a lot about his responsibilities. He knew he’d be writing tons of letters by the end of the year, at least once a week like his mother had asked him to. 

Draco was usually so careful about what he said, but he supposed his recent fumbles were due to nerves as well as trying to follow his mother’s new instructions. Speaking of, he ought to write that letter now. His eyelids had begun to sag. It was a conscious effort to remain awake, especially with how blastedly full he was. Harry’s squeezing really did a number on his fragile constitution. 

Draco thought back to the beginning. His mother’s conversation in his bedroom about how she wanted Draco to be honest and forthright with Harry was very odd and uncharacteristically direct of her. Not to mention that word seemed to spread and now Pansy wanted the same thing too.

Fine, if Harry wanted Draco to be honest, Draco could accept it as a condition of being friends with him. It was a small sacrifice to do what he already wanted to do anyhow. Being friends with him, that is. 

Yet, why would his parents want Draco to be friends with Harry, exactly?

‘Oh,’ Draco said with a small gasp. He’d figured it out. He nearly slapped himself. It was so easy. So uncharacteristically transparent of his father to literally hand over his entire plan for Harry. 

His father wanted to use Draco’s connection with Harry for political reasons down the line. Harry was all but forced to at least appoint a representative of his family’s seat in the Wizengamot when he came of age, if not an advisor to tell him what to do, since he didn’t grow up in the process. Who better than a future best friend who was obviously more interested in politics than he was?

Draco’s unravelling of his father’s entire plan should have made him feel excited or at least proud at his intellectual prowess. Instead, it made his cheeks flush and his hands grow cold. Draco didn’t want to do that to Harry. He really, really didn’t want to manipulate Harry. Anyone else would have been fair game, but Harry was Draco’s friend, a friend of his own making. 

Draco let out a long, shuddering breath. This was more complicated than he first thought. 

Was he doomed to fail? He had so many things to consider.

‘Are you alright, Draco?’ called Harry.

‘Y-yes,’ Draco coughed. ‘Perfect as always.’

Draco tried to think up another plan. He’d have to know what Harry was interested in, what sort of things he liked. Did he like gifts? What did he want in friends?

He paused, remembering he ought to write to his parents about his progress. He took out his Abraxan feather quill and began to write the inevitable letter he’d have to pen to his parents. 

‘Dear Mother and Father,’ he began. 

I am pleased to say that I have made great progress in securing the friendship with Potter. Unfortunately, the distinction in rank is too much to ignore for lesser minds. Theodore Nott had blabbed about Mudbloods, which I thought too near to Potter’s heart to bring up quite yet. 

It will be a long and difficult process. He seems uninterested in society maneuvering, in the hierarchy of wizards, and also seems to really, really dislike being in Slytherin. By the way, Potter’s in Slytherin with me and we are roommates. 

Fondly,

Draco

Draco sighed. It was the best he could do, given the circumstances. He dried the ink with a quick  _ Assicere  _ and placed the letter within a sleek black envelope to take to the Owlery after lunch. Draco gripped his wand tightly, finally understanding why he was destined for a hawthorn wand. It wasn’t that he was conflicted, it was that everything else was so conflicted. 

A sad hiss emanated from his wand. ‘Shut it,’ Draco murmured. He didn’t know quite how this wand worked but he knew better than to think deeply while holding it or be near it. 

He sat it down on his bed. Nothing was normal anymore. Normal had been kissed goodbye and sent ashore ever since he met Harry in Madam Malkin’s. If Harry had been in any other house, especially in Gryffindor, Draco’s world would have remained pristine, as it had been before. Sure, he’d miss Harry horribly, but he knew his duty by his house and wouldn’t have kept the relationship. He could have had his group of friends he’d had from as long ago as he could remember and know exactly what to expect from each of them.

In some way, this felt like a perfect opportunity to prove to his mother and father that, yes, he was able to be their heir in more than just name and looks; that fact didn’t make it any less daunting. No tutor could ever prepare him for a challenge like this. Yet, he was willing to do it, for himself and most of all for his family. 

What would be the first step? He knew he had knowledge that Harry would find useful. Draco knew his family-

Wait.

‘Ha!’ Draco exclaimed. He looked around quickly to see if Harry had heard him. He hadn’t. 

Draco could commission a genealogical record for Harry! It was a perfect gift for a magic-starved son of an ancient Pureblood family. He wouldn’t tell Harry who’d gifted it to him, but he could tell Pansy, who could confirm it if Harry got suspicious. Oh Merlin, Draco was clever. 

He began to write a second letter to his parents. Draco noticed his writing was quite a bit sloppier. He paused to collect himself before starting over, the page wiped clean of ink with a quick ‘Extergito’. 

Dear Mother and Father,

Per my first note (if you haven’t read the first one, then please do), I am making excellent progress. However, I do think a gift of some variety would help to cement this new understanding. For that I will need to call on a favour of yours. 

For my seventh birthday, I was given a very lovely commissioned and illustrated copy of our family lineage. I believe a similar gift would be very well-received by Potter, given that he must not truly understand the importance or prestige of his lineage from being around those savage Muggles. 

In any case, I would make this an anonymous gift though tell someone that I was to thank for it, should Potter be curious. It is indirect, but I feel it is the best approach to cementing our fledgling friendship. I would be willing to pay for it through my Christmas fund if need be. 

From what I can tell of his clothes, he prefers forest or emerald green. Might I suggest the book be bound in Welsh Green leather? After all, his family is from Gloucester. The decision on how best to proceed remains with you both. 

Fondly,

Draco 

Draco smirked to himself. He dried the second letter once again and stuffed it into the envelope of the first. He heated some wax with a murmured “Calesco” before setting a few drops down onto the crease of the envelope. As he did so, the Malfoy family crest, a stylized M surrounded by a ring of snakes and wands, appeared in the cooling wax. Satisfied with his work, Draco put the letter on the corner of his desk to collect. 

He quickly changed, luxuriating as always in his silk pyjamas, and draped his uniform over his desk chair. He had five in the wardrobe, so he wasn’t too worried about getting it back quickly. As he drifted off to sleep in the surprisingly comfortable Hogwarts bed for the first time, Draco smiled. 

It was all going to plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize is from canon, as always. 
> 
> Draco is so fun to write. I had a blast finding all the different furniture names for the common room and coming up with a better rhyme for the Sorting Hat. 
> 
> If anyone's curious, the Sorting Hat's poem follows a royal rhyme structure made popular in Middle English literature. This correlates to when the Founders were around, roughly. You'll have... five more (?) to look forward to. 
> 
> And no, there will not be a camping montage. I've had far too much of camping montage DH fics. 
> 
> I digress. We have far too much book to get through to that point in the storyline. 
> 
> If you are enjoying this so far, please leave a kudo and a comment. Tell me what you think about Draco. Do you like him? Is he different from what you expected? Any and all thoughts are welcome. 
> 
> See you on September 23rd!


	10. First Lessons

Harry woke up. As he had fallen asleep the previous night, he remembered the curtains drawing around him, but was still a little surprised to wake up in complete silence and darkness. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He gingerly pulled open the curtains, noticing that Draco’s were still shut. Maybe if was still asleep Harry could get the hot water first. He was sure that’s how it worked. 

Just then the curtains opened around Draco’s bed. He looked sleepy and particularly well rested. ‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘Seems we are both early risers.’

Harry smiled. ‘Yeah. I guess we are.’

Draco stretched and yawned. Harry thought he looked rather catlike doing that. His hair was ridiculously still in place as if he had just laid down.

‘I’m first for the lavatory. It takes hours to coif my hair properly.’

‘Oh come on,’ Harry groaned. 

Draco tittered. ‘I’m fooling you, Harry. I’ll only be a minute.’ Draco walked into the bathroom with a freshly laundered uniform, the door sealing shut behind him. Harry chuckled.

Harry thought about the previous evening. Draco seemed nice in his element, but he’d set a few strict rules: Harry couldn’t bring in people without Draco knowing first, or go get food without getting some for Draco as well. When he’d asked what Harry’s rules were, he’d simply said that Draco shouldn’t stay up so late writing letters if he could help it. He knew from Draco’s letters that he had indeed sometimes stayed up all night writing letters. Draco had taken Harry’s one rule graciously. 

In any case, it was a relief Draco was on his side as Nott wouldn’t bother him anymore, he couldn’t because of the blasted House rules. Harry could also be scot-free in being friends with whomever he wished who didn’t have such horrible views on people like him or his mum. 

Then again, as Harry was putting on a different uniform, he remembered what Draco said about the House’s bad reputation. It would clearly work against him. Why had the Sorting Hat placed Harry in Slytherin, Voldemort’s old house? Why had it placed Harry somewhere that surely everyone knew he didn’t belong in? Harry didn’t exactly dread being in Slytherin beforehand, but now that he knew...

Harry didn’t want to follow the rules. Why couldn’t he just learn and have friends and carry on? He also knew he definitely didn’t want to cross Professor Snape. The man seemed to be terrifying to his other housemates. Harry was a little intimidated, but knew that Snape was nice enough. Still though, best to stay on his good side. 

Harry adjusted his glasses in the mirror above his bedside table and looked at the ring he left on his pillow. It was a comforting thing, he guessed, but it was also something that made him different. It made him stand out like his scar did but it also made him associated with people like Nott. Obviously his family didn’t believe in all this Pureblood nonsense or his dad would’ve never married his mum, but it still made Harry uneasy. 

With a bit of hesitation, Harry slipped on his family ring. He felt the warm rush travel up his arm again and settle like a comforting blanket, like the one he’d felt while trapped at the Dursleys’. He flexed his hand. He looked over to see Draco leaving. Harry looked at his watch and decided that he too ought to get a move on before breakfast was all gone. It took him all of five minutes to get ready. 

When he came downstairs, he saw the rest of the first years in a line. Farley was inspecting them all like one of the drill instructors in Vernon’s war movies. Flicks of her wand tightened ties or straightened skirts. 

‘You will be taught every one of these charms, and an instruction manual will be sent to your dormitory’ she said to them. ‘After all, it’s one of the Rules.’

When she reached Harry, she frowned, looking at him speculatively from top to bottom. Harry felt distinctly shrunk, like he was a dissection under a microscope.

‘Impressively done,’ she said. She gave one short flick that straightened Harry’s tie and lapels, but otherwise left him alone. Crabbe got far worse. Farley looked him up and down and all around. Even though Crabbe showed no outward sign of being affected under her scrutiny, Goyle was sick-looking enough for the both of them. 

‘Powder stains?’ Farley said with disgust. Crabbe looked down at her as if he didn’t truly understand what the problem was. Harry didn’t really either. Crabbe seemed to like food. Food made stains. Stains could be laundered out. That didn’t seem to be a process that was familiar to wizards, it seemed. Not to Farley at least. Not to Slytherin House at all.

Farley flicked her wand. Crabbe flinched as his jumper briefly turned a shocking shade of violet before settling back to an unpowdered charcoal grey. ‘Do better,’ she ordered. Crabbe nodded sharply. 

‘Now, first years, make your way to the Great Hall,’ Farley ordered. ‘For the first few weeks, you shall travel as a group so that you all are well-prepared for following the rule of punctuality. Go on!’

The first years turned and left the common room.

Harry didn’t much like the rules or the order. It was not what he was expecting from a school with one hundred and ninety two staircases that moved or ghosts that said hello to you as you walked through the hall. He wanted to be a wizard, not be some perfect little soldier in what seemed to be the Dark Wizard house. 

Draco was right though, they weren’t all bad. Professor Snape after all had explained a great deal to him about the wizarding world and was friends with his mum. No one could be truly evil if they were good friends with his mum, in Harry’s opinion.

Yet he was here surrounded by people who didn’t want him to be there, except for Draco and maybe Pansy. Still though, he could’ve been in any other house and still have been friends with them. 

The feeling of being trapped in Slytherin continued as they were all but marched down to breakfast. As he went down the row, he felt eyes on him. Some were scowling, others looked like they were thinking. He looked away and rushed over to his spot, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle following moments after. Harry was nervous. The food looked delicious, but Harry couldn’t summon the energy to eat. 

He felt someone sit near him. He looked up to see Pansy Parkinson, who seemed a bit nervous.

‘Morning, you all.’ she said. She seemed to have not gotten a lot of sleep.

‘What on Earth happened to you, Parki- I mean, Pansy?’ asked Draco. Pansy ignored him. 

‘Hello, Pansy,’ Harry asked with a small smile. ‘I hate to ask, but would you mind calling me Harry?’

She smiled, but only just. ‘Yeah,’ she murmured. ‘Morning, Harry.’

‘Is something wrong?’

Pansy’s face fell ‘My mother. She’s… ill.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said reflexively. 

There was an awkward tinge to the air, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Pansy seemed on the verge of tears. Pansy seemed to feel eyes on her because she sat up unnaturally straight and looked Harry in the eye. Harry supposed she did have nice eyes, but didn’t really enjoy the direct attention as much. 

‘I know it’s a bit soon to ask you, but if you need help with anything,’ she spared a glance at his scar, ‘I’d always be willing to help.’

Harry thought about it for a moment. Pansy got up to leave.

‘Pansy,’ Harry called. She looked back at him. ‘Would you like to have breakfast with us?’

She blushed. ‘If you don’t mind, I guess,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit much yesterday. I’d… well, meeting you was-’

‘Don’t worry,’ Harry said. ‘It’s better than being alone.’

Pansy smiled weakly at that, but nevertheless sat next to him and Draco facing the two boys. Harry swallowed a bit of his water and looked around the Great Hall. Harry saw an older Slytherin boy glaring at him with open hostility.

‘They can’t do much more than glare at you,’ Draco told him. Pansy buttered a single piece of toast and put it on her plate. 

‘Surely they can; rules get broken all the time.’

‘Not like these,’ Draco said with a shake of her head. ‘If there’s one thing every Slytherin ought to have, it’s a healthy appreciation for tradition.’ 

‘I don’t even know wizarding traditions, other than the rings,’ Harry said. 

‘You’ll learn.’ Pansy nodded to herself sagely. ‘Even if you don’t like them, you ought to at least know them, observe a few. Everyone will expect you to. It’s the thing to do.’

‘I don’t really mind,’ Harry said. It was true. They could be critical all they liked. 

‘Surely there must be someone that you care about what they think of you,’ Pansy said, seemingly scandalized. 

‘My guardians, I guess.’

‘Oh yeah, the Tonkses. You know Andromeda is Draco’s aunt, right?’

‘Yeah, I knew,’ Harry said. Draco looked sick at that. 

‘So you do care what people think,’ said Pansy. She was smiling.

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Not exactly. I just don’t want any attention, you know? Not until I’ve earned it.’ Pansy nodded with a small smile. Harry figured she knew better than most when to drop a topic, and also hopefully when to keep a secret. 

‘You should eat something more,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing as bad as being nervous on an empty stomach.’

‘I guess so,’ Harry agreed. He piled some fluffy scrambled eggs and baked beans onto his plate. Pansy seemed as interested in eating as he was, which was to say, not at all. She told him all he’d ever want to know about her vacation to Bermuda. 

Harry supposed he could like her, but she did talk a lot.

Farley came around to where they were sitting. ‘Good morning, you five, I’ve got your timetables,’ she said. She shuffled around a stack of parchment, but paused to look at Harry. ‘Potter, glide your spoon across the beans, don’t shovel them.’

Harry's cheeks turned pink, but he demonstrated that he could glide his spoon. He picked up far fewer beans, but Farley looked satisfied nonetheless. She handed him his timetable, and then Pansy’s and Draco’s before stalking off. 

‘I figured these rules would be a lot more difficult for you since you grew up around Muggles,’ said Pansy.

Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought-’

‘Sorry, sorry. It’s going to happen a lot,’ Pansy sighed. ‘It’s just most of us are used to something similar at home, and you may not be.’

Harry sighed. ‘I guess. I don’t understand why we do them, is all.’

‘A lot of the presentation rules are to prepare us for life outside of school,’ Draco explained. ‘Society functions, business meetings, things like that. It’s meant to make us look and act professional.’

‘We’re kids, though,’ Harry pointed out.

Pansy smiled. ‘We know. Like Draco said, a lot of us are used to it by now. It’ll get easier.’

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. According to their schedule, they’d be having all of their classes today except for Astronomy. The first one, as Professor McGonagall had promised, was Transfiguration. Harry was very excited. He couldn’t wait to learn how to turn a shed into an elephant. 

Harry, Draco, and the others followed the path that Laura Hopkirk the Hufflepuff prefect had shown Harry’s group during the tour; through Professor Fronsac’s portraits and the greenhouses to the Transfiguration courtyard. When Harry and the others entered, they saw an empty classroom with two blackboards, a large desk with a cat sitting stiffly on top of it at the very front. 

‘Is this the right classroom?’ asked Millicent Bulstrode. Harry looked at his timetable and felt a pang of nervousness. Professor McGonagall was never late for anything. 

He looked at his watch as the last few Ravenclaws came in, convinced he was wrong and that Professor McGonagall was, just this once, late. He heard everyone gasping in shock. 

Harry looked up to see Professor McGonagall standing in front of her desk, wand in hand. 

‘Please take your seats,’ she said. Harry took a front row one. ‘Now then, welcome to your first year of Transfiguration. Please take out your notebooks and copies of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration . We will begin with our first unit of theory. However, before we begin, I have one warning for you all. 

‘Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,’ she said. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.’

Everyone seemed a little intimidated, though Harry smiled quietly to himself. Professor McGonagall had been exactly like this at the Leaky Cauldron. He wondered how he had missed her entering. 

‘Your first definition: Transfiguration,’ Professor McGonagall jabbed her wand at the blackboard, and a fleet of chalk sticks began to quickly and elegantly write out what she was saying with accompanying commentary. ‘Transfiguration…’

Harry wrote down the definition she had given him in the Dursley’s garden. Transfiguration encompasses all magic that alters, conjures, or vanishes physical matter. 

He had gotten some practice with quill writing, but knew his writing was atrocious compared to McGonagall’s and probably everyone else’s too. He wondered vaguely if they’d cover that in Introduction to Wizardry today. He noticed Draco’s penmanship was… well it was pretty, alright? Harry liked the way he twirled his quill in making a ‘g’ or tapping it lightly for a full stop. 

‘Now then,’ McGonagall continued, ‘Unlike Charms, Transfiguration has very few but very versatile incantations. The first is  _ Muto _ . While saying this, you must focus on the object and think clearly about what exactly you wish to change. In our first lessons, we will be transfiguring inanimate, that is non-living, matter into other inanimate matters of different densities and characteristics, utilising this incantation. For example, a match into a needle.’

She asked for several differences between a match in a needle and the list grew on one of the blackboards. She stopped them and rearranged the list into different categories: Colour, Composition, Density, and Shape. Two thick lines separated two more categories, that being Animacy, Mechanics, and Size.

‘These are the magically significant aspects of physical matter. What is the term for this?’

Harry raised his hand. He’d read the first few chapters of A Beginner’s Guide before he came to Hogwarts. She called on him. ‘The Switch Characteristics?’ he answered. 

‘Very good, Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘A point to Slytherin.’ Harry smiled to himself. ‘Transfiguration of alteration relies on the change of these Switch Characteristics. 

‘Depending on what you’re transfiguring, you must keep one or all of these characteristics in mind. Take your wands out: we’ll try out a few transfigurations. Take three and pass them down.’

Harry took his wand out as Professor McGonagall passed a matchbox to him. Harry dutifully took out three and passed it to Draco a seat over. After a brief recap of the Muto spell and how best to cast it, the First Years began attempting to transfigure their matches into needles. 

The Slytherins got theirs with varying degrees of success, the Ravenclaws as well. Harry saw that one Ravenclaw had managed to light their match rather than transfigure it. He also looked over and saw Draco staring blankly ahead, his matches already turned into three thick needles Harry thought looked more like knitting needles for gnomes. He’d given up, apparently. 

Harry turned to his own matches. ‘Muto,’ he said, pointing his wand at the first match on his desk. 

A clear light consumed the match and turned it into a golden needle. Harry picked it up and pricked his finger, letting out a hiss of pain. Professor McGonagall came over and gave him another five points after he successfully transfigured the other two matches into a bronze and silver needle each. Harry was delighted. He felt accomplished. 

Draco was smiling, but only just. It was clear both of them had their strengths, and Harry’s might be in Transfiguration. Harry smiled at him encouragingly. 

Out in the hall, Harry turned to Draco as they were walking to Potions. 

‘Hey, did you see McGonagall entering?’

‘What?’ Draco said. ‘Oh, she’s an Animagus.’

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. ‘A what?’

‘She can turn into a cat,’ Draco said with a shrug. ‘It’s pretty advanced Transfiguration.’

Harry’s eyes widened. ‘Really? That’s so cool!’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Draco smirked. He seemed to enjoy Harry’s enthusiasm. 

‘Do you want to be an Animagus?’ Harry asked Draco. The others shrugged, as if they hadn’t thought of it.

Draco scoffed. ‘What, and give the Ministry details into how my magic works? No thank you.’

‘What does he mean?’ Harry asked Pansy. 

‘Oh, Animagi have to be registered with the Ministry,’ Pansy explained. ‘You can’t have everyone and their mother be able to turn into animals.’

Harry wondered if his mother had been an Animagus. Vincent held open the door to the passageway, and they made their way to the dungeons.

The potions lab in the dungeons corridor was immaculate, and where Professor Snape taught the first years exclusively. There were rows of desks with hubs in the center of them and space enough for two people, and polished wood cabinets no doubt containing packaged and bottled ingredients around the classroom. Especially for the dungeons, the lab was well-lit. There was no smell, no sounds other than what noise the other pupils made.

The door to the lab slammed open. Harry shot up but returned quickly to his seat. Pansy looked at him curiously. Professor Snape, robes billowing, entered. ‘There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class.’

He whipped around, looking at them all. ‘As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potions making. However for those who possess the predisposition I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.'

Harry thought this was a bit dramatic, but didn’t say anything. The silence was deafening. Snape definitely had a presence. 

Like with the House Rules, Snape’s expectations were that they all be extremely precise and disciplined throughout the year. He didn’t threaten consequences about breaking his rules and expectations, didn’t shout or insult. He spoke with a low whisper that nevertheless people listened very clearly to. Potions, apparently, was also a particularly dangerous subject. 

However they didn’t start with anything practical unlike Transfiguration. Instead Professor Snape showed them the various pieces of glassware as well as the standards of measurements they would be using. Apparently there was a lot of maths involved as well as he sent them away with their first assignment: a worksheet for converting units of measurement. Next week they’d discuss stasis and catalyst charms which were apparently essential in potion-making. Draco was chattering all the way to Herbology about how much he was looking forward to the real stuff. 

Herbology was also very different from the first two classes. Other than the fact that the Slytherins were now paired with what Harry had gathered were their bitterest rivals, Gryffindors, Professor Sprout was also extraordinarily different. She wore patched robes, had dirt under her fingernails, and smiled broadly at each and every one of them. They also did something extremely practical today, which was identifying plants by their leaves. A Gryffindor named Longbottom got all five of them correct and won his house five points. He looked particularly embarrassed to be praised. Harry sympathised.

Charms class was next. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first lesson he took the register, and when he reached Harry’s name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Longbottom’s good fortune from Herbology seemed to run out as he flubbed the Drying Charm, instead causing his ink drawing of a tree to run like a river down his desk and under Pansy’s chair, ruining her uniform. Pansy looked red in the face as she left to go change, with Longbottom blubbering apology after apology as she left. 

History of Magic was the most boring by far. Professor Binns was a ghost who apparently had died one day after teaching and rose the next to go teach, leaving his mouldering body behind. He wasn’t particularly good at making his introduction to the course exciting at all. Pansy had returned and sat next to Harry, pinching him if he began to doze off. Granger was there, the girl from Harry’s tour group, and she looked to be the most invested in writing down everything Binns said. Harry idly thought about asking to borrow her notes. 

The last class that Pansy, Draco, and Harry shared was Defense Against the Dark Arts, led by Professor Quirrell. As Crabbe had mentioned, Quirrell possessed a rather horrible stutter. 

‘G-good… good a-afternoon class,’ Quirrell said. ‘Today we’ll b-begin with the id… categories of magical c-creatures that the M… Ministry uses. Pl-please open your books and read your first chapter.’

They all took out their books and read as Quirrell passed out worksheets. Apparently, the Ministry used a classification of one through five, each number represented by an “X”. The higher the number, the more dangerous the creature. 

Quirrell turned his revolving blackboard. There was a form with each category, a box for a short description, and a box for an example of a creature on it. Even Quirrell’s writing was better than Harry’s. 

‘A one “X” creature is c-considered… not particularly dangerous at all,’ Quirrell said with a nervous smile. ‘Can someone give me an example, preferably from your first c-chapter?’

Granger raised her hand. ‘A Flobberworm.’

Harry wrote down Flobberworm in his workbook. The next were a Fairy, a Pixie, a Phoenix, and finally an Acromantula. As he worked, he doodled in the margins. 

‘Sir,’ Crabbe asked. ‘Could you write out Acromantula for me?’

Quirrell gave him a look Harry couldn’t identify and took out another blackboard to write out Acromantula in large, spaced out letters across the middle. Harry had already written down an answer, but looked up. Professor Quirrell was just finishing the “M”, and his back was turned to Harry. Harry’s scar began to twinge. He placed his hand over it. 

‘Are you alright?’ Pansy whispered.

‘Of course,’ Harry lied. He wondered what the twinge in his scar could mean. 

The next class was Introduction to Wizardry. Unlike his other classes, there was a mix of his yearmates from every house, all of them Muggle-raised or Muggleborns. Also unlike the other rooms, this looked a lot more like what Harry would expect in a Muggle first form classroom, with round tables and plastic seats. Harry sat next to the only familiar face he knew, Granger from his tour group. 

‘Hello,’ Harry greeted her. She seemed to turn her nose up at him. Harry wondered if it was because he was in Slytherin. 

Harry looked blankly at the whiteboard, another difference. Their professor entered not long after. She was a heavy-set woman who wore quite a bit of jewelry and a Muggle pantsuit under a black cloak. Professor Hardwick was infectiously cheerful. She told them about the class which would follow their book order and also have daily writing exercises to get them used to using quills. She passed out thin workbooks and took questions. They spent the rest of the class practising writing with quills. 

Harry looked around. He seemed to be the only Slytherin here at all. He wasn’t too surprised, but he had hoped at least one would. 

The week passed by very quickly. On Wednesday they finally went up the Astronomy tower for their nightly meeting with Professor Sinistra. She wore dark violet robes and had her hair done up in a complicated knot. Though it was late, she seemed to have a lot of energy which kept everyone else attentive too. 

Like Professor Snape, she introduced the instruments to them and passed out even more maths sheets, these ones over angles and such. Astronomy apparently was very important for magic as the position of planets and stars relative to a person could affect magic of all sorts. 

She’d called these things circumstances. Apparently they didn’t matter so much for transfiguration or charms but for Herbology and Potions it really, really did. It was something to do with how long it took to cast spells versus care for a plant or brew a potion. Harry had done a lot with angles back in primary school but he never knew they could be so useful. They ended the lesson with a demonstration on how to disassemble and clean and reassemble their telescopes. 

Pansy really liked Astronomy, and told Harry about stargazing with her cousins in Bermuda (again). 

At breakfast on Friday, Harry sat with Pansy, Draco, Vincent, and Gregory (who preferred Greg, if Harry wanted). Pansy had pleaded with Harry to help them with Transfiguration, while Draco helped Harry with Potions and Pansy with History of Magic. Harry thought this was a fair trade. Vincent and Greg weren’t very conversational, but they did ask good questions now and again. 

The owl post arrived as usual. Hundreds of owls descended on them, carrying packages of varying sizes. Hedwig hadn’t delivered anything to Harry yet, but Harry did notice that Draco received a rather large gift basket yet again from his mother. Then, Harry saw Hedwig coming down to him and carrying a brown envelope. She dropped it next to his plate and waited for him. Harry opened the letter. 

Dear Harry, 

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig. 

Hagrid

‘Er, Pansy, might I borrow your quill a mo?’ asked Harry. She handed it over and Harry scrawled out a reply on the back. He was happy Hagrid had remembered to write to him. He handed the letter back to Hedwig, who took it without further ado, and handed back Pansy’s quill to her. 

‘Would you like to visit Hagrid with me?’ he asked the four of them. Crabbe and Goyle looked unsure and looked to Pansy. Draco outright shook his head. 

‘It’s not that we don’t want to come with you, just…’ Pansy paused and continued in a whisper, ‘What would people think?’

‘What?’ Harry asked. ‘He’s the gamekeeper, not a leper.’ He didn’t understand Pansy’s obsession with what other people thought. 

‘Yes but…’ Pansy trailed off. It was obvious she was agonising over her decision. 

‘I’m afraid I can’t. My parents would be furious,’ said Draco. 

‘That’s alright,’ Harry said. ‘You can come with me if you want to later on.’

‘We’ll come,’ said Vincent. Gregory nodded. Harry smiled.

‘We’ll see you after dinner, you two,’ Harry said.

Classes were a breeze. They continued with transfiguring matches into needles before McGonagall introduced the next unit. Professor Sprout had them make diagrams of leaves and charts that described photosynthesis and arcanosynthesis (where plants absorbed or rejected ambient magic). 

Harry slept through History of Magic again, and was convinced by Pansy that he could follow along afterwards with Professor Bagshot’s book. After an introduction to the Statute of Secrecy in Introduction to Wizardry, Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle met in the Common Room to go down to Hagrid’s for tea. 

‘Are you sure he won’t mind?’ Gregory asked again for the upteenth time.

‘No, he won’t,’ Harry replied. The two of them still looked nervous, but followed Harry anyway. They came out through the Clocktower and down to Hagrid’s hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

Harry knocked on the wide wooden door of the hut and heard booming dog barks within. Hagrid answered. ‘Back, I said back, Fang.’

Hagrid opened the door and smiled broadly at all of them. ‘Hello, you three! Be only a mo’, gotta put Fang up.’ Hagrid shooed a very large boarhound into another room and barred the door with a simple latch. The dog wasn’t barking anymore.

‘C’mon in!’ boomed Hagrid. The three Slytherins went inside. ‘Sit yerselves down, if yeh want,’ Hagrid said. Vincent and Gregory looked lost, but nevertheless sat on the couch next to Harry. Hagrid sat across from them in another chair and poured four very large cups of tea for them. 

‘Can’ say I recognise yer friends, Harry,’ Hagrid said. 

‘Oh, this is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They’re my friends.’

‘I figured they were,’ Hagrid said wryly. ‘How’re you boys gettin’ sorted out in Slytherin?’

Harry smiled. ‘It’s been slow going, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.’ Vincent and Greg made noncommittal noises. 

Hagrid nodded. ‘An’ what about yer classes? Any givin’ yeh trouble?’

Harry, Gregory, and Vincent talked to Hagrid about their first classes. They both found most of the classes more difficult than Harry, and seemed a bit embarrassed about saying so. Harry didn’t talk much about his classes now that he knew how much his friends were struggling. Maybe he’d ask them if they needed help later on.

‘Harry’s a genius at Transfiguration, though,’ Vincent said. ‘Go on, show Hagrid.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Why not?’ said Greg with a shrug. 

Harry coughed and took his wand out. He pointed at his tea cup and muttered ‘Muto’. The white teacup turned bright pink with yellow spots. Hagrid clapped loudly.

‘Ah if I could give yeh points, I would!’ Hagrid said. He looked at Harry’s wand with a strange expression.

‘Is something wrong, Hagrid?’

‘Nah, just reminiscin’ is all,’ he said. ‘Used to be at Hogwarts meself.’

‘What happened?’

‘Got expelled me third year,’ Hagrid said. ‘’Course they said I did somethin’ awful- which I didn’, but by that time… well, I suspect nothing coulda been done. Not strictly allowed to use magic anymore.’

‘That’s horrible,’ Harry said. Hagrid waved his hand.

‘All in the past now. Besides!’ Hagrid grinned. ‘If I hadn’t, wouldn’ta gotten this job.’ His smile faded. ‘But I do miss it. Magic, I mean.’

‘If there was a way I could help you, I would,’ Harry said. He meant it. Hagrid had been really nice and it was really unfair that he had been expelled for something he didn’t do. What was the point of being world-famous if you couldn’t do something good with it?

‘Don’t trouble yerself on my account,’ Hagrid said. The conversation shifted to gardening, of all things, and Harry looked around. He saw a newspaper on Hagrid’s side table and asked for it. Hagrid handed it over without much fuss. 

Harry read the article about a continuing investigation into a Gringotts break-in. 

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN INVESTIGATION CONCLUDES**

By Horlock Grimby

Anastasia Belakov, District Head of the London Branch of Gringotts gave a press conference Thursday, officially concluding the investigation into the break-in at Gringotts. Apparently, the internal investigation of the bank revealed no more clues as to the cause or the perpetrator of the break-in. Mdm. Belakov was not available for comment. 

On 1 August, the bank was broken into by an unknown Dark magic user. The private vault had been emptied a few hours before, according to a statement by the holder (who remains anonymous). Experts reference the stellar track record of the Fraud and Robbery Investigative Service as well as the internationally-recognised rigour of Gringotts security...

Harry felt curiously about this article. After all, the day he visited Gringotts on August the first, Professor McGonagall had emptied a vault. Sure, it may not be the same vault, but seemed like too much of a coincidence to ignore. He resolved to ask her.

‘Hagrid, may I borrow this?’ asked Harry. The conversation, which Hagrid had mostly carried, had been turned to unicorns, which apparently Hagrid and Vincent both enjoyed tremendously.

‘Keep it, if yeh want,’ replied Hagrid. ‘Only had it fer the word puzzles.’ He glanced up at his clock. ‘Gallopin’ gargoyles! It’s near the review period by now! Yeh all ought ter get back before yer missed!’

Harry finished the last of his tea. He tapped his wand against the cup and returned it to the colour it had been before. Vincent, Harry, and Gregory said their goodbyes to Hagrid, and promised to come visit again. The gamekeeper waved them off and gave them all rock cakes to take, which Vincent and Gregory munched on happily.

Harry looked at the headline now and again. Vincent and Gregory were happily chatting behind him, but Harry was far and away. Just what had that package been? If it was the vault that was empty, who had tried to steal that package? 

The more Harry thought about it, the more he wanted to speak to McGonagall about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Hope you enjoyed this week's edition. I really enjoyed writing McGonagall again.
> 
> Edit 10/3/20: Added some missing elements for this chapter, including a description of Astronomy and some other missing details.


	11. Longbottom's Flight

Harry really wanted to ask McGonagall about the break-in and asked her to meet with him after Monday’s class for an unrelated reason. Unfortunately, she was booked during the review period until the end of the month. Apparently the Ministry had changed the requirements between NEWTs years for the Transfiguration exam and every 7th year in NEWT-level Transfiguration was in a tizzy trying to wrap their heads around the new regulation. 

The thought of break-ins and small parcels were out of Harry’s head as he noticed that his timetable included a new class that would last until the end of term: Flying. Harry didn’t know how well he was going to do at flying around on a broomstick. He dreamed about falling off and Draco laughing at him, with a cold high laugh and a flash of green light usually accompanying it. 

Over the weeks, Harry wrote to the Tonkses. He talked a great deal about his time in Slytherin and how quickly his fame seemed to disappear and how confused he was about the coldness he’d felt from almost every Slytherin except for Pansy, Vincent, Greg and Draco. 

They had asked a lot of questions, but weren’t annoying about it. Some of them were easy, such as if he found his classes particularly difficult or not, and some of them were hard like was he presenting a mask to prevent people from seeing the ‘real’ Harry. He answered most of them but paused at one of the few remaining.

‘Have you considered Draco may be going through something similar to you, in regards to his expectations?’ it read. He had talked about how Draco was mean to Bletchley in the Sorting Ceremony.

Before Harry could answer the question however, the clock for breakfast inspection rang. Harry quickly knotted his tie with one of the charms from the book Farley distributed to the First Years a few weeks before and walked downstairs with Draco following suit a few seconds after. 

Nott and Blaise Zabini had lasted all of three weeks before hexing each other. Blaise had been moved into Bletchley’s room. As they both had duelled each other, there was no offended party left, though they did lose forty points each. No first year was particularly happy with the two of them. Nott’s father had broken a ruler against his son’s knuckles afterwards, according to Pansy. Harry didn’t like that at all. Draco said it wasn’t true.

The first years lined up once more. This time however, Honoria Blackburn, one of the 7th year prefects, was the one doing the inspection. She found things Harry and the others wouldn’t have dreamed of: Bletchley’s unpolished buttons on his shirt, Pansy’s weak clasps on her bag, even Nott’s singular scuff on his shoe. Draco and Harry of course passed the inspection with flying colours.

‘Be advised, your Flying classes will take place in H-block,’ Blackburn said. ‘You will be paired with the Gryffindors. I expect you all to continue abiding by the Rules.’

They were all sent, rank and file, into the Great Hall. Harry found the first sign of life in Draco as well. The owls had descended with their daily packages. A very large barn owl swooped to Longbottom’s place at the Gryffindor table. Harry knew it was from Longbottom’s very, _very_ strict grandmother. Harry sort of pitied Longbottom, even if he couldn’t remember his first name. 

Longbottom opened the small parcel and took out a glass ball about the size of a peach that quickly filled with red smoke. 

Harry leaned in to talk to Pansy across the table from him, ‘What’s that that Longbottom’s got?’

Pansy whipped around quickly. ‘It’s a Remembrall. It turns red if you forget something. It’s a party favour.’

‘Does it help you remember the thing you’ve forgotten?’ Harry asked.

Pansy tittered. ‘Obviously not.’ Longbottom looked almost as red as the Remembrall trying to remember what he forgot. Just then, Draco had taken it from Longbottom’s fingers. 

Harry got up to intervene, and so did a few of the Gryffindor boys, but Professor McGonagall had beaten them all to it. She seemed to have solved the dispute in one sentence. Draco put the Remembrall on the Gryffindor table and rejoined them with a scowl on his face.

‘Why did you do that?’ asked Harry.

‘You wouldn’t understand. He’s an embarrassment to us. He fails at _everything_.’

‘Maybe we should help him,’ said Harry.

‘He’s a Gryffindor,’ Pansy said. ‘The Rules forbid it.’

‘No they don’t.’

‘Yes they do. “You will utilise the proper channels with a dispute outside the House”.’

‘What?’

Draco sighed. ‘You must read between the lines here. Obviously Gryffindors hate us and have dogged us for centuries. Everyone knows that. It rarely gets to where we have to talk to faculty, so the only proper thing to do is to hit back.’

‘Why not just leave it?’

‘Leave it?’ Draco repeated. ‘It’s tradition.’

‘Longbottom’s easy. It’s nothing personal.’

‘That’s bullying,’ Harry said.

‘We’re only protecting ourselves. We don’t actually want to do it,’ Pansy said. ‘Sure, some people take it too far on both sides. But Gryffindors started it. A hex here, a stolen book there. Nothing harmful.’

‘It’s like a war,’ said Vincent.

‘And we intend to win it,’ said Draco firmly.

‘Who’s we?’ asked Harry.

‘All of us,’ Pansy gestured to the Slytherin table, ‘As should you.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t want to, it’s not right.’

‘Power exempts,’ Draco said with a shrug. ‘The Gryffindors won’t hold back on you for long though.’

‘Plus, it’s good to let out a little steam now and then, especially in Slytherin,’ Pansy said. ‘Can’t be good to bottle all of this up. You’d pop.’

‘I’d rather do other things than beat up Gryffindors. Surely there’s something else you all do.’

‘I talk to people, obviously,’ Pansy replied. Harry supposed that did make sense but didn’t feel stupid for asking. ‘And you?’

‘Er, probably reading,’ said Harry. 

‘I have a ball that I throw at our window,’ Greg replied. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t but it’s _so_ fun.’

‘I draw unicorns,’ said Vincent. He seemed rather proud of himself. Harry hadn’t seen them, but would ask to later, if Vincent wanted him to see them. 

‘How about you?’ Harry asked Draco. 

‘I write letters. You know that,’ Draco said. ‘But we all have to keep up the old ways too.’

Pansy shook her head. ‘No, that doesn’t count. I write to my father all the time and it’s like… what did you say that place with all the Muggle blasting runes was called?’

Harry was confused. Every so often, she would ask him about Muggle things like clothes or movies. Last week they’d talked about Muggle phrases. It seems Harry’s impromptu Muggle Studies lessons were paying off. ‘Oh, a minefield?’ 

‘Yes!’ Pansy exclaimed. She composed herself. ‘Yes, it’s like a mine-field.’

‘It’s a single word, Pansy,’ said Harry. 

Pansy waved dismissively. ‘Whatever.’

Harry turned back to Draco. ‘So you really don’t do anything else?’

‘I do too! I write lots of letters and don’t send them. It’s like a journal,’ Draco said defensively.

‘Fine,’ Pansy sighed. ‘Let’s move on.’

‘How do you think you’ll do at flying?’ asked Harry to Greg. He brightened up immediately.

‘Oh I think I’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘My dad was the team Beater when he was here, you know. I might try out next year for it. I think that would be fun.’ Harry was shocked but didn’t show it. That was the most Goyle had ever said about a single topic. Draco waxed poetic about his own prowess. 

Harry really didn’t know how to feel about the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. 

He didn’t like the bullying one bit. 

Long after lunch and ages since they reviewed the International Statute of Secrecy (the law that made wizards unable to reveal the existence of the magical world) in Introduction to Wizardry, Harry met his yearmates again in the ruined courtyard near the greenhouses for the first flying lesson. 

A line of broomsticks with black ribbons awaited them, as did Madam Hooch, the school magister. The magister was in charge of all the clubs and sports at Hogwarts. She had shock grey hair, amber eyes, and just happened to be dressed like a wizardly version of a referee.

‘Good afternoon, class,’ she said. ‘Welcome to your first Flying lesson. Everyone stand next to a broom, the left side if you please, or right if you are left-handed.’

The class got next to their brooms. Harry noticed the Gryffindors glaring at them, with plenty of glares going back to them as well. Harry refused to glare.

‘Now I want you to stick your dominant hand over your broomstick and say very clearly ‘Up’.’

Harry did so. The training broom shot into his hand. Most of his classmates had trouble getting them off the ground. Harry noticed Greg had given up and picked up the broomstick himself. 

‘Now, I want you all to mount your broomstick,’ Hooch ordered. ‘Hold on tight; you don’t want to slip off the other end. 

Now when I blow my whistle you will kick off from the ground hard. Hover for a moment, then lean your broomstick toward the ground and touch back down. Ready? Three, two-’ she blew her whistle.

Longbottom shot off like a cork while the others remained at a hover. Madam Hooch called for him even as he raced towards the school. Longbottom wasn’t in control of his broomstick. Hooch aimed her wand and was casting several spells toward Longbottom to no effect. The chase ended when Longbottom slammed into the wall, his fall ending with a sickening crack. Hooch ran over and brought him to his feet. He was clutching his wrist. 

‘I’ll escort Mr Longbottom to the Hospital Wing,’ she said, looking at them all with utter seriousness. ‘Should I see or hear about any of you on your broom, you’ll be in a month’s detention faster than you can say “Quidditch”.’ 

She left with Longbottom whimpering by her side. Harry heard a low chuckle and whipped around. He saw Draco holding the Remembrall.

‘Looks like Longbottom’s left his stupid Remembrall,’ Draco said loudly. ‘I wonder if he had held onto it, he could’ve remembered how to be a proper wizard.’

‘Draco, stop it,’ said Harry.

‘What are you doing?’ whispered Draco urgently. ‘I have to do this.’

‘No you don’t,’ said Harry.

Draco raised his eyebrows and spoke to the rest of the group. ‘I’ll leave it somewhere for him to find I think,’ He kicked off on his broom. ‘On the roof perhaps?’ he called down.

Harry made to get on his broomstick, but stopped himself. If Draco got in trouble, surely he’d stop antagonising Gryffindors. He let go of his broom and glanced up to see Draco circling over his head, tossing the Remembrall up and down. Harry felt a surge of anger at him. Draco sailed off and threw the Remembrall into a tree in the yard. Vincent and Greg chuckled nervously. 

‘Aren’t you supposed to be a hero, Potter?’ asked a curly-haired Gryffindor.

‘Want to be a hero? Go find a professor,’ said Bletchley.

‘Bloody Slytherins, all the same,’ said the Gryffindor.

‘Who are you?’ Pansy looked him up and down exaggeratedly. ‘I don't think I recognise you at all.’

‘Cailean McLaggen.’

‘Merlin what a stupid name,’ Pansy said. ‘Cailean? Isn’t that Scottish for little bit-’

‘Pansy, please,’ Harry interrupted. Cailean’s focus returned to Harry. 

‘Look at him!’ he called to the others. ‘How could you have killed a dark wizard? Huh?’ McLaggen said, getting into Harry’s face. 

‘Cailean, leave him alone,’ said Parvati Patil, a Gryffindor girl.

‘Why? He’s a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake!’ McLaggen said. ‘Bet you’d hex me first chance, wouldn’t you, Potter?’

‘Please step away from me,’ said Harry quietly. Greg and Vincent stepped forward and cracked their knuckles. McLaggen looked cautious.

‘It’s not worth it, McLaggen,’ said another Gryffindor.

McLaggen spat on Harry’s shoe and stalked away. 

‘DRACO MALFOY!’ Professor McGonagall yelled. She and Professor Snape were racing towards them all. Draco looked and quickly came down. ‘What the devil is going on here?’

‘He took Neville’s Remembrall, ma’am,’ said Parvati Patil to Professor McGonagall. Draco was strangely silent. McLaggen grinned madly at his two friends. 

‘McLaggen spat on Potter’s shoe,’ said Bletchley to Professor Snape. McLaggen was blubbering how it wasn’t true even as his spittle rolled. Snape looked impassively at McLaggen, as if he wanted nothing more than for the boy to explode on the spot. McGonagall looked about the same. Snape whipped around to face Draco.

‘Madam Hooch passed me in the corridor,’ he informed Draco. ‘A month’s detention and thirty points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy, for not following a direct order.’

McGonagall turned back to McLaggen. ‘Thirty points from you as well, Mr McLaggen and a detention.’

‘But Professor-’

‘Cailean McLaggen, I am _not_ in a charitable mood,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘Would you like to join Mr Malfoy in his month’s detention?’

‘Professor-’

‘Very well, Mr McLaggen,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘You’ll be spending a month with Mr Filch.’

Weasley, one of the other Gryffindors, spluttered. ‘You can’t-’

‘Can’t?’ Professor McGonagall narrowed his eyes. ‘Should I make it _sixty_ points?’

The Gryffindors made a cry of protest. 

McLaggen’s face turned bright red. ‘No, Professors.’

‘Come with me, Mr Malfoy,’ said Professor Snape. McGonagall led McLaggen back to the castle by his robe collar.

‘Are you alright, Harry?’ asked Vincent quietly.

‘No,’ said Harry. He looked away. He felt the sting of tears. He couldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of the Gryffindors. Pansy handed him a handkerchief and he dabbed away at his eyes. 

Harry went away from the group and sat by himself, putting his head between his knees. Blood pounded in his ears. He was angry. He was angry about Draco’s behaviour, angry about the stupid Slytherin rules, and angry that even after these months he was still afraid of Dudley. He felt like he’d come so far and yet not at all. Something slimy and rotten gripped his heart and just wouldn’t let go. 

He heard a pop next to him. Harry uncurled himself to see a little house elf holding a small bottle.

‘From Professor Snape, Mister Potter,’ the elf said. 

‘What is it?’ asked Harry. 

‘A Calming Draught, sir,’ the elf said. ‘Professor Snape wishes for Mister Potter to take it.’

‘I don’t want it,’ replied Harry. 

‘Please sir, Greenleaf has permission to force-feed it to Mister Potter should Mister Potter not take it himself,’ the elf said. ‘Greenleaf does not wish to do so.’

Harry grimaced and snatched the bottle. He uncorked it and drank. The sickening feeling left him, and he no longer felt as enraged as he had. 

‘Thank you, Greenleaf,’ Harry said. He handed the stoppered bottle back to the elf. ‘I feel loads better.’

‘Oh you are most welcome!’ said Greenleaf. He bowed and disappeared in a shimmery haze. 

‘Mr Potter!’ Madam Hooch called. ‘If you would like to join us again, please do so.’

Harry got up from where he was sitting and jogged over. He muttered an apology to Madam Hooch. The First years, minus McLaggen and Draco, continued with their lesson. Based on their comfort level and experience, they were split off into different groups to do basic maneuvers. Some, like Pansy, remained at a hover while Bletchley was spinning in circles and Crabbe was doing loop-de-loops. Harry felt a little ambitious and joined Crabbe’s group. 

As he took off, he felt truly free. He supposed this was what he was missing. This was loads better than reading. The wind going through his hair as he sped up, the comfort of the wood in his grip as he turned and twisted. It was exhilarating. Harry felt a laugh bubble up. He was happy. _Really_ happy. He didn’t think about stupid rules or Dudley. Nothing mattered in that moment compared to the broom, the wind, and the feeling of being good at something without trying really hard.

He went back to the tree where Draco left the Remembrall and scooped it up, carrying it back down. When he touched back down, he saw a look of awe on most of the Slytherins’ faces and some from the Gryffindors as well. Madam Hooch looked very impressed. 

‘Are you sure you’ve never flown before?’ Pansy asked on their way back.

‘Not a bit,’ Harry said. 

The smile hadn’t left his face. 

After their flying lesson, Harry went alone to the Hospital Wing. The other first-year Gryffindor boys, except McLaggen, surrounded Neville on a bed. Harry hesitated. Weasley and a sandy-haired boy glared at Harry as he came closer, but Longbottom and a boy wearing a West Ham shirt looked thoughtful. 

‘Come to gloat, have you?’ spat Weasley.

‘Ron, McLaggen’s already lost us thirty points,’ said the West Ham boy.

Harry quickly fished out the Remembrall from his robe pocket and placed it on Longbottom’s bedside. He couldn’t take much more of them. Harry turned and stormed off.

‘Hey, wait!’ called Longbottom. Harry turned. ‘Thanks, Harry.’ The boy looked genuinely thankful, though his cheeks were tinged with embarrassment. 

‘You’re welcome, Longbottom,’ Harry said.

‘Call me Neville,’ he said. He gave Harry a little wave goodbye. Weasley’s ears turned bright pink. 

Harry ran into Pansy outside of the hospital wing. 

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Neville’s nice,’ Harry reported. ‘There’s a boy with a West Ham shirt giving Weasley grief about the points.’

Pansy put on her scary smile, but said nothing. Harry felt a creeping sense of dread that she was going to get her revenge on his behalf. Even if Harry wasn’t a part of it, the war would rage on. Since it was against McLaggen, who was much bigger and scarier-looking than her, Harry really hoped she knew what she was doing. 

On their way back to the common room, Harry heard someone calling for him. He turned to see Farley running up the corridor with a note. This was very uncharacteristic of her. Normally, she showed nothing but disdain. 

‘Potter!’ she exclaimed. She quickly composed herself. ‘There you are. Professor McGonagall wishes to speak with you. Here’s a note.’

‘Thank you, Farley,’ Harry said. She nodded sharply and entered the common room. 

Harry sat on a bench beneath a portrait of Horace Slughorn, the last Head of Slytherin House. Pansy looked over Harry’s shoulder as he unfurled McGonagall’s note and read.

Mr Potter,

I am free this afternoon from the beginning of the review period to curfew. 

Should you still wish to meet, now is the time. 

Professor McGonagall

Pansy’s eyebrows nearly rose to her bangs. ‘McGonagall’s giving you like three hours to chat.’

Harry rolled the note back up and put it in his bag. ‘What’s the big deal?’ he said as nonchalantly as possible.

‘She literally took thirty points from Slytherin like an hour ago,’ Pansy said.

‘Yeah, but I’m different, remember?’ said Harry. Pansy smiled.

‘I could come with you, if you wanted,’ she offered. 

‘I’ll be fine,’ Harry said. ‘Could you please not tell anyone?’

‘Oh, but Harry-’

‘Please,’ Harry said pleadingly.

Pansy deliberated for a moment. ‘Fine.’

Harry grinned. ‘Thanks Pansy.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’ she asked. 

‘Yeah, it’s only Professor McGonagall.’

‘Professor McGonagall.’

Harry sighed. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, shooing her off. 

Pansy stuck out her tongue but went into the common room. Harry followed to get the newspaper from Hagrid’s hut before going the opposite direction to the first floor near the Transfiguration courtyard. 

Harry entered McGonagall’s office. They had passed by during the tour, but he had never entered it before. A large family tartan stretched along the back wall, with two windows letting in the last of the twilight sunset. The fireplace had a few mementos and a carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Two leather wingbacks and a coffee table with steaming mugs of tea, and plenty of books throughout in neat ordered rows. McGonagall smiled. She folded her glasses and rose from her desk. 

‘I didn’t expect you so soon, Mr Potter.’

‘I figured out the password for Hardwyn the Hack a while back. It made going from the dungeons to here a lot easier.’

‘Good, good,’ McGonagall nodded. She gestured to the wing backs. ‘Tea?’

‘Please.’

Harry and McGonagall sat in the set of wingbacks by the empty fireplace. McGonagall flicked her wand and sent a sign to hang on the doorknob to her office before it closed. 

‘How are you doing, Mr Potter?’

‘I’m fine,’ Harry said. ‘Well, I guess I’m adjusting.’

‘Hogwarts is an adjustment for many, and even more so for you I’m afraid.’ McGonagall repositioned her tea bag thoughtfully. ‘How is Slytherin treating you?’

‘I don’t care for the rules much,’ Harry said.

McGonagall gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I understand. Have you spoken to Professor Snape about this?’

Harry shook his head. ‘It’s alright.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘I just don’t want to cause a stir. It’s tradition, isn’t it?’

McGonagall sighed. ‘Without tradition, the rules wouldn’t be necessary and you wouldn’t be in this position.’

‘Because everyone hates Slytherin?’

‘Generally,’ said McGonagall. ‘I was going to say that there was an extremely tense rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor that is traditional, but… yes I suppose that’s true.’

Harry looked glum. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Unfortunately, the Hat’s decision is final,’ McGonagall said. ‘Traditional though it may be, I wonder if you being in Slytherin will alleviate some of the tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin.’

‘It’s not very likely. McLaggen _did_ spit on me.’

McGonagall’s face tinged with pink. She was angry, though not at him. ‘Yes, I did have a _very_ long chat with him about such behaviour. I’m sure you’ll find his manner much improved.’

‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Harry said. 

‘I would do it for any student who was spat on, Mr Potter,’ she said.

‘I know, Professor,’ Harry said. He smiled a bit.

‘It won’t be immediate,’ she continued. ‘But, I think it’s admirable that you have even done as much as you have. If nothing else, you serve as a differing perspective in Slytherin. Those with Muggle backgrounds are exceptionally rare in that house, you know.’

‘I don’t feel like I am making much of a difference,’ Harry said. ‘A few are nice, I guess, but then this whole rivalry thing…’ He told McGonagall about Vincent, Greg, and Pansy, and his visits to Neville and Hagrid. She nodded. 

‘It’s good that you gave Mr Longbottom his possession back. Two points to Slytherin,’ she said. ‘I do wish there was more that could be done, but us faculty can do only so much without the support of the students.’

‘Will it ever stop?’ Harry asked. ‘After all, Pansy said that most of the older kids’ parents were Death Eaters. I don’t want to antagonise them further by trying to stop all of this.’

‘You should do what you think is right,’ McGonagall said. ‘Besides, children aren’t their parents. You are quite unlike your father: He participated in the rivalry fully.’

‘Oh.’

‘Are you struggling in any of your subjects?’

‘Just History of Magic,’ Harry said.

‘Professor Binns is not the most exciting lecturer, I grant you, and not the most accessible during review,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘I’m sure he’s a wealth of information in the right circumstances, if someone was ever to find them.’

‘Did you have him?’

‘Yes. I did not find the right circumstances, I’m afraid,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Are you enjoying any of your classes?’

‘I really like Charms and Transfiguration,’ Harry said. He demonstrated by causing the teapot to quickly shift colors while performing a jig.

‘Smartly done,’ she said. ‘Three points for excellent colouration and charmwork.

‘And might I add, you are very accomplished in Transfiguration,’ she said. Harry blushed. ‘Your hard work rivals even your father’s own.’

Harry smiled. McGonagall had mentioned his father’s best subject was Transfiguration when Harry stayed at her cottage. She also shared that he was very, very mischievous and confident. 

‘I’m really not like my father?’ asked Harry. His smile faded. He was worried. If he were alive, would his dad have loved him? 

‘I think he would’ve agreed with me that you aren’t, but would have loved you all the same,’ Professor McGonagall replied. ‘I truly believe that.’

Harry felt for a good while after that McGonagall could read his mind. Not like Snape though. She eyed the newspaper in Harry’s robe pocket.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘Oh I wanted to ask you about this Gringotts investigation,’ Harry said. He took the paper out of his cloak pocket and handed it to her. ‘It was the same day we went and I wondered if they tried to break into the same vault.’ She read it quickly and placed it on the table. 

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. ‘Mr Potter, I would ask that you not inquire further into the matter. The situation is well in hand.’

‘So it was the vault?’ Harry asked eagerly. 

‘Mr Potter,’ she said warningly. Harry was cowed. There was a knock on McGonagall’s door. ‘Enter.’

Pansy entered. ‘Ma’am, Professor Snape wished to speak with you. He said there was no urgency.’

‘Really?’ Professor McGonagall said. She put down her teacup and went to her planner on the desk. ‘Sure enough. If Professor Snape called, there is always an expectation of urgency. Very well. Mr Potter, if you would.’

Harry drank the rest of his tea and nabbed a few ginger newts from the plate. He waved to McGonagall and left with Pansy. McGonagall left through the Floo to Professor Snape’s office. His mind was filled with new questions.

‘So, how did it go?’ Pansy asked. 

‘You know that day I went with Vincent and Greg to Hagrid’s?’ he asked. She nodded. 

He filled her in on going to Diagon Alley with McGonagall, the break-in, and the conversation around the break-in not moments before. Professor McGonagall could say what she wanted about Pansy’s sensationalism or discretion, but she was a very good listener. 

‘Let me get this straight. There’s a successful break-in of a Gringotts vault, the first in centuries, Professor McGonagall emptied the burgled vault hours before, and there was only a little bag?’

Harry nodded. ‘That’s the size of it.’

‘You’re sure it’s the same vault?’

‘Positive,’ Harry said. ‘She wanted me to drop the subject.’

Pansy looked at Harry appraisingly. ‘Very good work, Potter.’

‘Pansy, please-’

‘I may be the biggest gossip in our year, Harry, but I’d never tell your secrets.’ she raised her wand hand. ‘Witch’s honour.’ Harry was satisfied with that. She looked at her watch. ‘Now it’s halfway through review and I’m pants at Defense. Do you mind if we go to Quirrell?’

Harry shook his head. He didn’t think Quirrell would be much help though. He seemed to follow the book to the letter and didn’t have much to add. He followed Pansy to Defense. She seemed to know her way around the school. Harry looked around at the carved columns, the old tapestries, the portraits. He really did like Hogwarts-

‘Harry,’ Pansy whispered. Harry snapped out of it. ‘I think we’re lost.’

Harry looked around. They seemed to be in a corridor with a lot of scorch marks on the floor and walls. The torches in the hall were dimmed. 

‘Where are we?’

‘I was following you,’ Harry said. 

‘I was following you!’ exclaimed Pansy. She huffed in frustration and looked around. ‘I think this is the third floor.’

She turned around to go through the door, but found that it wasn’t there. She slapped her hand against the wall in a futile attempt for it to come back. 

‘Stupid corridor,’ she spat.

‘I think that’s why they’re doing renovations,’ Harry said. He noticed a door and walked over to it. He jiggled the handle. It was locked. 

‘My father taught me this one,’ Pansy said, taking out her wand and rolling up her sleeve. ‘I had a bad habit of locking myself out of my own room. _Alohomora!_ ’

Pansy opened the door and went in with Harry. Harry tried to look around the room they were in, but couldn’t see a thing. He muttered _Lumos_ and his wand lit up in a soft glow. He looked around. All the torches were out. He felt a tug on his sleeve.

‘Pansy I’m trying to find…’ Harry began. ‘Pansy, what is it?’

Harry turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he’d walked into a nightmare. 

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. 

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant. 

Harry groped for the doorknob. They fell backwards – Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor.

‘That is the last time I’m taking directions from you!’ Pansy yelled as they raced past a prefect. 

They ran until they were on the Grand Staircase. 

‘What on earth was that?’ Harry said. He was shaking all over, from exhaustion and from fear. He hated dogs. 

‘It was a Cerberus,’ Pansy stuttered as she whispered. ‘It’s in our book.’

‘Why is it in the school?’ Harry asked. He gripped the bannister as they made their way down, certain he was going to die on the staircase. 

‘It’s guarding something,’ Pansy said. ‘I saw it- a paw on the trapdoor.’

‘Do you know somewhere we can talk?’ Harry asked. ‘Somewhere close.’

Pansy nodded. ‘If I can ever find it.’

Find it they did. Pansy had taken Harry to the dungeons again on the Hufflepuff side. They approached a very large bronze door with a sculpture of a bowl of fruit decorating it. Harry noticed the bronze around a pear in the lower left corner was a lot brighter than the rest of the door. 

‘Here we are, something where we can eat and talk.’

‘The Great Hall-’

Pansy shook her head. ‘Too many people.’ She tickled the pear and the door swung open. 

Harry was in the largest kitchen he’d ever seen. Five tables were positioned like they were in the Great Hall, with flagons and gravy boats and all laid out perfectly. A large brick fireplace was at the other end. A large number of house elves were working to prepare the many different foods for dinner and dessert, all of them oblivious to the two young Slytherins’ presence. 

That is, until Pansy cleared her throat. Nearly two hundred eyes fell on them and the work was paused for a moment. Greenleaf stepped forward. 

‘Is Miss and Mister wanting something?’ he asked. 

‘Just a place to sit,’ Pansy said. 

The rest of the house elves looked at her owlishly until they went back to work. Greenleaf came to them both with spindly chairs. He smiled at Harry and set the chairs by a smaller unused work table. 

‘Would Mister Potter and Miss Parkinson like something to eat?’

‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ replied Harry. Greenleaf grinned and bobbed his head. He quickly returned with pork ribs, barbecue sauce, mash with gravy, a flagon of water, and with silverware for them both. 

‘You know I think we’re supposed to eat with our yearmates,’ Harry said. 

‘Dinner hasn’t yet started, Mister Potter,’ Greenleaf said. ‘Mister Potter and Miss still have some time.’

‘And for once I think I’ll be taking a page out of your book,’ Pansy said. She piled mash and ribs on her plate. 

‘What’s that?’ asked Harry.

‘Hating the rules, for a moment,’ she said. Harry smiled. They ate for a moment in silence. 

‘So-’ Harry began.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Pansy snapped. Harry swallowed down his food. She giggled.

‘So what was it guarding?’ asked Harry.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Pansy scoffed. ‘Hogwarts is the most secure place in Britain. A Hogwarts professor emptied a vault that someone wanted to steal something out of. A little something as you remember. Therefore…’

‘The package is underneath the dog,’ Harry said. Pansy nodded. 

‘I had hoped you’d be quicker on the draw, Potter,’ said Pansy wryly. Harry flicked a bit of mash at her. She giggled again. 

‘What’s so important that you’d need a three-headed dog to guard it plus everything else?’ asked Harry.

Pansy shrugged. ‘No idea.’

After they finished their ribs and mash, they quickly walked back up the stairs and joined their classmates at the table. As far as they knew, they hadn’t been suspected. Vincent and Greg looked at them curiously, but otherwise they weren’t questioned. They didn’t eat much at all. 

Harry now knew that the package McGonagall had retrieved, one that someone wished to steal, was under a trapdoor guarded by a Cerberus on the third floor corridor. 


	12. Toad Livers

‘Do you have any idea how serious this is?’

Severus was staring down at Mr Malfoy, who had a few moments ago directly antagonised Neville Longbottom. The foolish, puerile, utterly tawdry rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor seemed to have corrupted the poor boy’s mind like an infestation of rot grubs. Despite Severus’ best efforts, it remained a central tenet of the traditions of his house. One he was keener than most to excise. 

‘ _Such potential for commiseration_ ,’ he thought, ‘ _Wasted._ ’ 

Malfoy, befriending Potter- that had been his goal. He had heard from Lucius of course that his son was in correspondence with Potter whom, though he wasn’t a Gryffindor, was at least ancestrally anything but a zealot for the Rule of Salazar. It was the perfect opportunity. It was why he had switched the housing arrangements right after the Sorting. He could only imagine how Malfoy could turn out when paired with Nott, whose father was the symbolic definition of hell incarnate. 

He had hoped, no, _yearned_ for a day that he could finally break through to Lucius, to preserve at least one of his allies from the ruin of their youth. Yet he persisted. Inculcated. Indoctrinated.

Draco Malfoy had ruined his plan, or at least made it infinitely more difficult by Severus’ assize.

‘It was just a stupid ball,’ Malfoy whined. 

‘Exactly. Yet, you thought it wise to not return it. Not only that- you insulted him?’ Severus glared at the boy while settling his cauldron on its stand. ‘The Longbottoms are formidable, Mr Malfoy. Even such minor slights were not so easily forgiven when your father was young. You may have got away with such indiscretion before Hogwarts, but I will not tolerate it here. Especially not from you.’

‘Why me?’

‘ _I had such high hopes that you were at least of middling intelligence, Malfoy,_ ’ he thought. ‘Piece it together,’ he snapped.

‘I don’t…’

‘Very well,’ Snape said. ‘I thought you would realise that Longbottom is untouchable. Your little games with the Gryffindors, well, that is another topic entirely. Longbottom, however...’

Malfoy’s eyes bulged. If he had been a garter fish, they would have been prime for extraction. ‘He’s worthless!’

‘Worthless?’ Severus repeated. ‘Hardly. His grandmother alone is a formidable asset. His prodigal skills in Herbology, even so early in his career, is a credit to him.’

‘But he’s a Gryffindor.’

‘He is nobility, a prince of the realm, just as you are. His grandmother could ask of so much of your father as recompense. Do you realise that?’

‘Nearly all of them are heirs this year. What am I to do, let that stop me and let the rivalry die?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ he thought. He curled his lip instead and stalked over to a cabinet, hiding his face. ‘Discretion, Mr Malfoy, that is what I would have from all of my pupils.’ He threw it open and searched for his quarry. ‘Discretion and tact.’

‘I was just curious-’

Severus slammed the cabinet shut, placing three vials on a side table. He slid over to his main station, not looking up. ‘Do you think yourself untouchable? Unassailable?’

‘Aren’t I?’ 

‘No,’ Severus said, remembering others like Malfoy. ‘I believe you know that as well. That wasn’t at issue, was it? I know exactly why you did it.’

‘Why then?’ he asked, eyes defiant. 

‘Tell it to me yourself.’ His would be a most crucial answer that could decide the fate of thousands. Severus turned the burner to low after lighting it with a snap of his fingers. The cool rush of gas was a most delightful nepenthe.

‘I wanted to prove to Potter that it wasn’t all talk, that the rivalry is real,’ Malfoy said. ‘I wanted to demonstrate how it’s best done. I know now that it was foolish.’

‘Why?’ asked Severus. He remained stock still. 

Little Lucius huffed. ‘He doesn’t care about any of it!’

Severus nearly rolled his eyes and fetched a large flask. Petunia was hardly subtle with anything, not to mention her boorish husband. No wonder he was not appreciative of subtleties. ‘Is that all?’

Malfoy shifted in his chair. ‘It was foolish to think he would care. I know that now.’

‘It seems you’ve learned a lot of things in a very short time, Mr Malfoy,’ Severus drawled. ‘Is it the environment or the individuals you find yourself surrounded by?’

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘ _Undoubtedly_ ,’ he thought. Instead he smirked quietly to himself as he spooned in spirit of hellebore. Water couldn’t be used as a base for this particular brew, which made it a more volatile and delicate process.

‘What is to be done?’

Severus remained silent, relishing watching the little Lucius squirm. It was one of the few joys he had left in his life. 

‘Sir?’

‘Go to the cabinet marked 5H,’ said Severus. His smirk widened as he heard the boy nearly wretch when he opened the cabinet. 

‘Toads?!’ Malfoy shrieked again. 

‘Prepared for dissection.’

Malfoy paled. ‘But- I- I am a scion of the House of Malfoy, a prince-!’

‘A prince of the realm?’ Severus drawled. ‘As much as Longbottom is? I assure you I know that. It is why I am providing you with gloves.’

‘This is slaves’ work!’ he yelled back. 

‘Watch your tone,’ Severus said. ‘Your parents agreed to any punishment I deemed fit and within the guidelines of my duties as Head of House and Potions Master. As it is, you will dissect these frogs until I tell you to stop.’

‘ _Be thankful that you aren’t Theodore Nott, who wasn’t spared any consideration whatsoever by his father to Severus other than to not leave lasting physical scar_ s,’ he thought.

Severus pitied Theodore Nott, truly. Very few he found were undeserving of redemption, and Tarquinius was one of those individuals. Severus of course couldn’t do much else but temper his wroth, fully aware of his students’ checkered childhoods yet still needing to preserve his image as a Death Eater and loyal servant to the Dark Lord. 

Had he been a stronger man, perhaps Severus would not find himself here dancing around what his contract stated his role was and what his past and potential future dictated. 

Severus waved his hand, another cabinet opening. He heard Malfoy take out a pair of gloves. Truthfully, he was always going to give him gloves anyhow, regardless of his supposed place in the insufferable hierarchy. Severus may be a bastard, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice the health of his students for a reprimand. Perhaps Malfoy knew that, or at the very least was beginning to question it.

Severus hated the smell of pickled toads, that sickening putrefaction tinged with preserving fluid. He hated the lumps of dead milky flesh of the underside, the glassy countenance of pence-sized eyes. It was the worst imaginable. He hoped a little humiliation would steer Malfoy clear of absolute ruin, and couldn’t think of a more humiliating task.

Malfoy put on his gloves without much ado. Severus quietly handed him a simple steel knife, wary as ever should the boy choose to enact his revenge through violence. Thankfully, Malfoy wasn’t _that_ dull. 

‘Begin,’ Severus said. 

He watched the boy make a deft incision. No doubt his mother had taught him early with stuffed renderings. Even with the differing textures providing moderate difficulty, Severus could tell the makings of a future Potions Master in Malfoy’s careful grasp, his solid flourish of the knife, and the neutral, almost dead regard he held for his targeted specimen - despite his earlier, vehement reluctance. 

He turned to his own potion, of which coincidentally toad livers were an ingredient. The base was heated to fragrance, a bubble charm trapping the vapour within yet perforating as Severus added twice-pulverized valerian. It was a calming draught, such as he sent along to Potter.

‘Do you know what I brew, Mr Malfoy?’ Severus asked in a low whisper, knowing full well that Malfoy would be compelled to answer. 

‘No, sir.’

‘It is a Calming Draught,’ Severus supplied. ‘The base of which is-’

‘Hellebore,’ Malfoy interjected. Severus’ eyebrow raised, but otherwise he didn’t make an outward sign of affectation.

‘Precisely,’ he replied. ‘What is the elemental composition of a spirit?’

Malfoy paused, his knife settling on the block as he thought. Severus was beginning to wonder how thorough Narcissa had been before the boy replied: ‘Fire.’

Severus nearly smirked, but continued to stir in valerian. ‘What is a draught?’

‘One that induces an unnatural effect,’ rattled off Malfoy with more confidence than the first. 

‘How does it do such, according to the elemental identity of its base?’

‘A spirit is fiery, which means that it draws on the potentas of its components rather than on the target.’

‘What would happen if you were to switch out the base to distilled water instead of a spirit for a draught?’

‘It would… It would be an elixir. The fundamental nature of the potion would change, so it would have a different effect.’

‘And the circumstances? How would one have to be to create a calming draught?’

‘They’d have to be… calm?’

‘You have paid due attention,’ Severus said with a nod of approval. He heard Malfoy smile, that slight, near imperceptible noise. 

Severus began to grind moonstone into a fine powder. Earthen components produced effects counter to the magic they best utilized. Moonstone was known to promote thought, so the use of it in a potion would consequently curb compulsions. Much like young aristocrats, to put moonstone into an unfamiliar environment provokes a defensive reaction. Or, it would, if other circumstances did not intervene. 

Such as a guiding influence. 

Severus sighed internally. He really hated his responsibilities when they conflicted, especially when it came to a moral dilemma. He often thought it would be easier, preferable even, if no one felt anything at all and were actors of pure logic. Unfortunately, he knew even he had emotional needs. A want of validation, of acceptance, of love; not that he’d ever receive such things, given his fearsome reputation and cold nature.

He would be damned if he allowed someone to walk his path, especially one with such potential. 

As it was, could he get involved in something that went beyond a student’s physical safety?

He heard another toad plop onto the table. He turned away from his brew, placing the lid atop it. He regarded Malfoy with a cool expression.

‘You have… done well,’ Severus said. He cringed internally, the only outward sign a curled fist. Fortunately, it provoked a desired reaction- a widened smile. ‘You will return here every night and weekend day.’

‘For dissection?’

‘Not only,’ Severus allowed. ‘You must study and practise other fields of studies, unfortunately.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Malfoy repeated with a small smile.

Severus stepped forward. ‘Now do not do this again. Do you understand?’

‘Do what, sir?’ Malfoy repeated with a coy tone; some dunce may call it an innocent one. Unfortunately, Severus learned from the best perceiver of affectations to spot them.

‘Go on, foolish boy,’ Severus murmured. He snapped his fingers, the door to his lab opening. Malfoy smiled and bounded out, leaving bloodstained gloves for him to clean later.

Well, for Severus to clean later. 

Now was later. 

Severus sighed and closed the door once more. He regarded the remaining pickled toads with disdain.

‘Sir, I got a letter from my parents.’

‘Oh indeed?’ Severus said. ‘Why must I know?’

‘They weren’t pleased.’

‘I should think they weren’t. I assume you’re speaking in reference to Longbottom.’

‘Did you tell them?’ he asked accusingly.

‘I had a duty to disclose the events to your parents,’ Severus said. ‘Had it been between two Slytherins such as between Nott and Zabini, my prerogative would have been the same but by different means.’

Malfoy nodded numbly and set his things down. 

Severus was concerned by the boy’s reaction. He had heard tales of aristocracy being so fanatically tied to their parents’ goodwill but hadn’t seen it quite like this. This would require a defter touch. He set the boy to work scrubbing out cauldrons, a mindless task that didn’t require supervision at all. 

Severus waved his hand, locking all the cabinets. 

‘Once you have finished with the bottom shelf of cauldrons - by hand - you are free to go,’ he said.

Malfoy nodded, and Severus left for Dumbledore’s office. 

‘You are sure?’ Albus said. He was once more ensconced in that ridiculous chair of his, with Severus sitting on the opposite side.

‘I am. I knew Lucius to be a hard man. He is fond of his son, but… I am not sure how well his concern battles against his sense of loyalty.'

‘A most interesting dilemma, I am afraid. I do sympathise.’

‘No words of wisdom? No pithy remark?’

‘On how to deal with Lucius?’ Albus said with a titter. ‘Hardly.’

‘As for Draco…?’

He smiled. ‘I suppose I could muster one up.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Very well. Children are, in my experience, some of the most resilient and adaptable creatures imaginable. Given time, a little guidance perhaps, they can become whatever they wish to be, and overcome any obstacle. How is that?’

‘That doesn’t help,’ Severus said blandly.

‘Surely it must! I am scandalised you have not thought of guiding the boy yourself.’

‘Guide- Guide children? Inform their parents of incidents, yes. Protect the foolish from themselves, yes. Only because I must.’

‘What of Harry Potter?’

‘What of him?’

‘You are under no obligation any longer to any,’ Albus said with a small smile. ‘Present company excluded.’

Severus sneered. ‘As you are so good to remind me.’

Albus shrugged, an uncomplicated gesture. ‘I merely elucidate the reality before you; you are under my employ by your own motivation. I of course have long considered our arrangement, if not ended, then certainly dormant.’

‘You know why I remain,’ Severus said, gripping his chair arms. 

‘I do. I admire you endlessly for your reasoning, Severus. Yet sometimes I wonder, if you will pardon me saying, if a passive approach is really the best going forward. I have, after all, given the situation some thought.’

‘Potter is safe,’ Snape said slowly. ‘The Dursleys are no longer a part of the boy’s life.’

‘Nor should they ever have been,’ Albus said with a shake of his head. ‘Ah, but I do not refer to Mr Potter in this instance. After all, he is well tended to, and from the most unlikely of people. I imagine your own evaluation would agree.’

Severus nodded sharply. ‘To what, then, do you refer?’

Here, Albus took on his careful, calm smile. No doubt it had been perfected over many long years of being asked for his opinion or when he saw an opportunity arise. For all his huff and bluster about being honest with people, he could connive with the best. Severus had no doubt they would all be in extreme peril if Albus Dumbledore ever strayed from his moral high ground. 

‘You know, it is very rare indeed for so many heirs to Noble Houses to pass under this roof at once. Why, the last time it happened was-’

‘I can’t. I can’t do that.’

‘“Can’t”?’ Dumbledore repeated with a small scoff. ‘My dear boy, forgive me, but I believe you are once again underestimating your formidable abilities.’

‘Me? Guiding _aristocratic_ children?’

‘No matter what your past may hold, you are here as a mentor. You may inquire into any domestic situation within your own house. As I said before in this very conversation: with a little guidance, children can grow to be anything they wish truly be.’

The detentions continued without fail through the rest of September and into October. The young Malfoy would come, do his bidding, then leave or revise depending on Severus’ mood. The subject of the letter hadn’t been brought up again, yet Severus continued to act on Albus’ advice. In doing so, Severus hadn’t intended for Malfoy to enjoy a moment of his instruction and yet he seemed unconquerable. 

Malfoy had, as the Hat had told Severus, a thirst to prove himself that outstripped most other considerations. It seemed once one introduced a different means of thinking, Malfoy would attempt anything should it also fit into whatever delusion he was currently experiencing, such as becoming a worthwhile potionmaker.

Severus wondered vaguely if it applied to Malfoy’s friendships. Was he also so adaptable? Did it fall under Severus’ purview to enquire?

He decided one night that it must, given additional, more pressing circumstances, mainly Potter Perhaps if Potter hadn’t been in Slytherin and so close to the heart of things, Severus would not spend so much time in consideration of Malfoy’s intention. He had never planned to be the Head of House to Potter, and yet, he supposed it was just as he deserved. 

Malfoy entered, breaking Severus’ deliberation. He slung his rucksack artlessly to the stone floor. No doubt a cushioning charm was employed to not squander Galleons-worth of ink and quills. He looked expectantly to Severus. 

‘Sit a moment. I wonder, Mr Malfoy, if you continue to make your parents proud of your academic achievements. Do you deem it so?’

‘I do. I’m near the top of my year. Or, I think I am.’.

‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘Sir?’

‘Academics. The magical arts in which you are being trained. Do you enjoy the study of it?’

‘Magic is my life. Of course I enjoy it.’

‘What of Potter?’

‘He… is it entirely proper for me to say either way, sir?’

‘I am your Head of House. It is infinitely proper. Be that as it may, please do only share what you feel is relevant.’

‘He’s so childlike with it. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, Professor. He…’

‘Go on.’

‘He asks me to show him little tricks. _Constantly_. Making bluebell flames, opening the curtains. I know he is perfectly capable of doing them himself.’

‘Then why do you do it?’

‘It requires no substantial effort on my part.’

‘I see.’

‘He enjoys it too. He transfigures the curtains too, little patches of them. He reads almost as much as Granger, that Hufflepuff, does. He asks me a lot of questions. He is hardly subtle.’

‘Of course he doesn’t appreciate your little subtleties. He was raised by Muggles, after all.’ 

‘Yes… I am aware.’

‘So it isn’t a flippant curiosity.’

‘No, I think he realises his place in our world, the responsibility and power that comes with it. I hope he does, anyway. Sir, may I ask a question?’

‘You have already, but another is entirely acceptable.’

‘Why did you ask, sir?’

‘It is my duty as Head of House to grasp the tenor of its occupants. As his roommate, I trust your insight. Shall I enquire as to the state of all your yearmates, or shall we get on to the punishment of the day?’

‘Which is?’

‘You are to brew a Cure for Boils.’

‘Brewing? That seems hardly a punishment.’

‘Would you prefer scrubbing out cauldrons?’

‘I think I’ll take the brewing.’

‘I thought as much. Get to it.’

He thought of Malfoy’s revelations. He seemed to observe the boy constantly, more than the duty to his house would seem to warrant. Conclusion: Malfoy was genuinely pleased to be friends with Potter. Severus could have laughed considering a similar situation with either boy’s fathers being in a similar situation. Yet neither it would seem had much to do with their fathers in temperament, despite the physical resemblance of both being near uncanny. 

For one thing, Lucius would do the bare minimum to maintain a friendship. He only tolerated Severus for his wit and small ability of commiseration with wartime trauma. It seemed his son was far more passionate, something Lucius hadn’t yet managed to stamp out or disguise as zeal. With any luck, it was not too late to capitalize 

As for Potter, Severus had been foolish to assume before meeting him that he was anything like his father, and would’ve been the height of foolishness to continue the delusion after. He found Potter to be meek, indefatigably curious, and a quick study in how to win the hearts and minds of his Slytherins. With any luck, he would survive to the end of the school year, if not also to the Dark Lord’s return. 

Malfoy continued on to brew. Severus observed for a moment before settling into his marking. Before he did, there was one point of contention remaining. 

‘Mr Malfoy.’

‘Sir?’

There it was again. Severus nearly spat fire. He settled for a huff of air through his nose. ‘You ought to know better than most that such information that you have shared is inherently confidential. Share it if you must, but remember that any information as such is power over the individual.’

‘I don’t want power over Harry.’

‘Many will frame it in such terms, and some will and do wish for power over him. Potter is who he is, after all. Remember that and to be discreet.’

‘Yes sir.’

Severus deliberated for a moment and continued, ‘But also remember your duty to this House. Should anything come up that requires my attention, I trust you to bring it to me without fear of reprisal.’

‘Of course, sir. Will you?’

‘Share it?’ he asked. Malfoy nodded hesitantly. ‘I hardly think it relevant or wise for me to share information about my breakfast, much less my students to any but to those I trust.’ _The list grew shorter every day._

Malfoy seemed relieved. ‘Okay.’

Severus nodded sharply and returned to the fifth years’ moonstone essays. 

Irritably, it seemed Albus was correct. 

Severus invited himself over to Minerva’s office. He brought with him a box. He knocked on her door, suddenly back in fourth year and dreading every moment of the coming conversation.

It was an inevitable encounter. 

She answered with her usual ‘Enter.’

Severus opened the door. She looked up. Was that surprise he saw?

‘Severus,’ she said, putting down her pen. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

He left the door open and strode over to her desk, placing it on the edge. She looked it over and smiled.

‘Happy birthday,’ he said shortly, and moved to leave.

‘Leaving so soon?’

‘Must be off.’

‘Mm. I’m sure,’ she said with a knowing smile. ‘Or, I could tempt you with a cup of jasmine tea to stay a little longer. Marking gets ever so dull, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’

Severus’ interest was piqued. He sat down. 

As the month dragged on, he noticed that Potter seemed to have a large and stable friend group in Slytherin. That was a phenomenon Severus hadn’t expected to be possible, especially given their collective family histories and the last generation’s… follies. Fortunately, he was reminded daily how expectations really mattered to children whose minds were set on being contrary. 

It was a rarity for Slyrherins to come to advising, which suited Severus fine. They were under the illusion that Severus ought not to be bothered with anything unless it was life threatening or a clear and flagrant violation of school and or house rules, and thus didn’t often come for socialising or for career advice (beyond what was done in second year). No recommendations, no invitation to nuptials. 

A handful of students, however, had latched themselves onto Severus like lampreys over the years, only finally tugging off after graduation.

Even fewer still hung on, long after they had left Hogwarts. Severus had resigned himself to never being rid of them. 

Nymphadora Tonks was one of those parasitic children. The thing was, she wasn’t even in his House. After far too many incidents of her accidentally destroying many articles in the potions labs she haunted throughout the years, Severus had at least insisted on them meeting in the Three Broomsticks when he received her owl.

It was only until recently that young Tonks was as good as Potter’s sister nowadays. She had yet to ask after him, but knew it was only a matter of time. 

One particular October afternoon, Severus was waiting in his usual booth. He would have prefered one that was less conspicuous but was also wary of appearances of impropriety, even now. He saw Nymphadora approach and he stood on principle.

She was wearing a KISS tee, Muggle jeans, and a rumpled lime green overrobe. In short, she stuck out like a sore thumb and also was running a little late. Typical.

‘Professor!’ she said and came over. She raised a hand. Severus sighed internally and gave her a high-five. He gestured quickly to the booth to preserve even a shred of his dignity. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

Severus waved his hand. ‘It made no difference. How is Auror training suiting you?’

‘Oh, fine. Fine,’ Ms Tonks said, her hair changing shades in her incomprehensible fashion. ‘To tell you the truth, I thought it’d be a lot harder.’

‘How so?’

‘Oh, the paperwork has _nothing_ on a McGonagall essay,’ she said with a small smile.

‘I’m sure she would be thrilled to know that,’ Severus said dryly.

‘Yeah. I can see her face right now,’ Ms Tonks. Her smile widened as her features began to shift, her eyes becoming lidded and surrounded by wrinkles-

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Please don’t do this.’

‘Oh, but it’s so fun!’ she whined, her voice halfway between her own and Minerva’s.

‘No,’ Severus said. Not only did he not wish to dine with Minerva, he had no love for Tonks’ prodigal talent. In another life, he had vivisected Metamorphomagae for his Lord’s study. He never much cared for the shifting abilities since. 

‘Oh, you’re still no fun,’ she said, her face shifting back. Severus uncurled his fist, which he hadn’t remembered doing. 

‘I would rather maintain my stellar reputation than engage in extraneous tomfoolery,’ Severus said.

She laughed. ‘Tomfoolery?’

Severus glared. ‘It’s a perfectly acceptable word.’

‘Maybe for Granny Tonks....’ she mumbled.

Their waitress came. ‘What will you be having today?’ she asked. Her eyes widened when she recognised Severus. He dimly placed her as Corrine Sikes. ‘Oh, uh-’

‘A barrel of Ogden’s Finest would suffice,’ Severus said with a bland expression. 

‘A b-barrel?’ Sikes stuttered. ‘We don’t sell it by the barrel.’

Severus pursed his lips. Ms Tonks giggled behind her hand. ‘Hm. I see. Well, a Gillywater instead, then.’

Sikes nodded and dashed off rather quickly. Ms Tonks closed her mouth with a clack.

‘She didn’t even take my order,’ Ms Tonks hissed. 

‘How inconsiderate,’ Severus drawled.

Ms Tonks shifted her position this time, rather than her face. She looked uncomfortable. ‘What did you do to her?’

Severus closed his eyes, entering his mind’s palace. He opened what he could best describe to others as a cerebral filing cabinet, the fluttering parchments of memory welling up and fading away as he sorted through. There were few true memories of Corrine Sikes-

‘I assure you,’ Severus said slowly, coming out of it. ‘I know of no doing of anything untoward or undeserved on my part to her.’

Ms Tonks pointed, only putting her finger down when Severus glared at her. ‘There it is again. I guess I never noticed it.’

‘Noticed…?’ Severus said as a sort of prompt. 

‘You speak like Dumbledore,’ she said, like it was some huge revelation.

‘Headmaster Dumbledore,’ Severus said reflexively.

She shrugged. ‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘I… suppose I have picked up a few mannerisms of his over the years, yes,’ Severus said. 

‘H-here you go, sir,’ Sikes said. She quickly dashed off again.

‘I’d like a…’ Severus noted with amusement that Ms Tonks once again closed her mouth with a clack. ‘There she goes again.’

Severus made his mind up rather quickly, leaning slightly out of the booth. ‘Ms Sikes!’

He saw the waitress freeze and walk slowly back, as if she was walking to her death. 

‘Sir?’ she said, fidgeting with her quill. ‘Is there something I-’

‘You have yet to take Ms Tonks’ order,’ Severus said, quite finished with her already. He remembered exactly what had happened in that moment. 

‘Oh, of course,’ Sikes said, and to Tonks directly, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need to apologise. I’ll have a pumpkin juice, side of lemon, please,’ Tonks said with an easy smile and a wink. Sikes seemed to relax a fraction and walked off. Tonks looked back at Severus, her eyes not quite accusatory. ‘Should I be concerned?’

‘No,’ Severus said. She didn’t seem to buy that. Severus clenched his teeth and went back into his mind’s palace. A swirl of a folder, a catch of the light- 

He drank a little of his gillywater to settle himself back. ‘I’ll tell you now,’ he said. ‘She deigned to plagiarise an essay of mine for my own assignment. I imagine she believes that I hold it against her even to this day.’

‘Let me guess, crystal refraction? Fourth year?’

Severus nodded sharply. ‘Indeed. I was less than pleased with her.’

Tonks gaped a moment before speaking. ‘Why wasn’t she expelled?’ 

‘Hardly anyone is expelled, for good or ill,’ Severus said silkily. ‘You know this.’

‘What about the git that spat on Harry?’ Tonks said. Ah, a perfect opportunity.

‘It would take more than that for the governors to agree to expulsion,’ Severus said. 

‘It’s so stupid.’

‘Life isn’t fair,’ Severus said. It had become something of a mantra of his. 

‘Here you go, miss,’ Sikes said, returning with a frosty mug. She slipped a piece of parchment under Ms Tonk’s glass. Severus went on high alert, but didn’t move until Sikes had left. 

‘Thank you,’ Tonks said. Sikes smiled- odd enough for an assassin- and left. ‘How is Harry anyway?’

‘He’s adjusting well,’ Severus said. ‘No incidents to speak of, other than the flying lesson.’

‘Good. Mum will be pleased.’

‘I’m sure.’

Ms Tonks reached for the note. Severus took out his wand, taking her by surprise. 

‘Allow me to examine it first.’

‘Oh I don’t think-’

Severus lifted it with his wand. 

‘Oh, alright then.’

Severus cast several diagnosing charms: no distinguishable marks or magical traces. Parchment, ink, paraffin wax. No- beeswax and carnauba. Waxes and castor oil and other particulates...

‘Lipstick?’ Severus said aloud. Interesting.

‘What?’ Tonks said. 

Tonks snatched the parchment from the air and opened it. She blushed, her hair flushing pink. 

‘Ah,’ she said dumbly. Severus smirked. 

The next evening, Mr Malfoy once again darkened Severus’ doorstep for the last of his punishments. Severus stepped aside to let him in before sealing the door, a familiar routine. One he’d almost miss, given the opportunity. 

‘Should I continue the rivalry?’ Malfoy blurted out. Severus was a little surprised. Usually one greeted their host before launching into questions. 

‘If you must, remember what brought you into this situation,’ he said at last. ‘Stealing a bauble at breakfast is not becoming nor is it prudent. If you want to continue this foolish mission, choose your revenge and do so with care.’

The boy placed his rucksack next to his table. ‘What must I do instead?’

Severus moved towards another shelf, taking out a well-worn potions book. ‘Do you wish to continue it?’

He could hear fingernails scratching. The back of his neck. It wasn’t his usual mannerism; one he surely picked up from Potter. Good. ‘I… I suppose I do,’ he said.

Severus sighed. He knew it would take more than a month to get through to the boy. ‘For a simple answer, do try to be not so foolish or so… heavy handed. The consequences for it will be less desirable than plucking out toad livers. If you wish to truly affect them, there are other measures.’

‘ _Damn my hide_ ,’ Severus thought. 

‘Oh?’

‘ _Course correction required_ ,’ he thought. 

Severus turned and placed the book onto the boy’s table before gliding over to retrieve his own work. ‘Read that. No doubt you sense my disdain for the practice, Mr Malfoy.’

‘I do.’

‘Then why do you think I would tell you to proceed with it?’

‘You’re the Head of House.’

Severus lifted the lid on the batch of Veritaserum before him. He quickly cast a Bubble charm so the fumes didn’t escape. ‘What of Potter?’ he said. 

‘What about him?’ the boy asked carefully. Protectively, perhaps?

‘He’s a Slytherin-’ Much to Severus’ surprise, ‘Is he not?’

‘Professor, it’s such an obvious answer,’ the boy drawled. ‘I don’t know whether you are asking or simply expecting a contrary response.’

Severus nearly smirked. ‘Mind yourself, Mr Malfoy. As it is, Mr Potter doesn’t engage in the rivalry.’

‘He does too!’ the boy squawked.

‘How does he do so?’

‘He’s received better marks than all the Gryffindor boys,’ the boy said, grinning triumphantly. As if it mattered.

‘You know this?’ Severus asked. He opened a drawer and retrieved adder’s tongue. 

‘Yes.’

He took out a large granite mortar. ‘Who showed you their ledgers?’

‘No one did. I just know.’

‘You just… know?’ Severus drawled. ‘My my, perhaps I should assign you to Divination in the near future. I’m sure Professor Trelawney would be most pleased with your apparently prodigal skill in her woolen ways.’

‘Or Arithmancy for my skills with probability,’ the boy retorted. Such cheek. ‘I don’t believe my father would approve of me being in Divination.’

‘And how is your father, Mr Malfoy?’ Severus asked idly while crushing the dried tongues. Then again, he tried not to ask idle questions. 

‘He’s… well.’

‘I attended around the same time as he did, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

Malfoy coughed. ‘I am.’

‘Your mother?’ Severus pressed. ‘She is well also, I hope?’

‘I… yeah. I believe she is also well.’

This was interesting. The boy believed it, he didn’t _know_. Had he heard from his parents?

‘You don’t know?’ Severus asked, peering at him. The boy was looking down at his book. 

‘I… I don’t think I should talk about this,’ he said quietly. 

‘Of course,’ Severus replied. He turned back and added the adder’s tongue. The potion fizzed and turned a pale shade of pink. It had nearly reached its final stage. 

‘It’s another rule,’ the boy continued. ‘I’m not sure if you’d understand.’

Severus swallowed, looking in the cabinet for something he knew he wouldn’t find there. ‘I could… attempt to, should you explain it to me. I am a rare sort, who can comprehend seemingly incomprehensible facts.’

‘Well, I’m not really supposed to talk about my family. Not even with my Head of House,’ Malfoy said.

Severus closed his eyes and the cabinet. ‘That I am familiar with. I will not ask again… if you don’t wish it.’

The boy seemed to consider it. He then closed the book, no doubt finished with it. ‘Was there something to do, sir?’

‘Today is your last day. No, I believe once you have finished the preparatory work for Calming Draught, you may leave.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Severus hummed. He must be a fool to think he could get through to the boy more than he had, but he’d be damned if… well. 

‘I’m sure you would benefit from additional instruction,’ he said neutrally. 

‘I’m sure you’re too busy for that.’

‘Don’t presume to tell me my own schedule,’ Severus said with little of his usual venom. 

He would have to work more closely with Draco. It would be best to do so on a more cordial note. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> This week's my birthday week (birthday's on Saturday) so I'll be posting another chapter then as a gift to you. See you Saturday!


	13. Troll in the Dungeon

September turned to October fairly quickly. They had finally moved on to practical potion-making in Professor Snape’s class. Draco had spent most of his nights and weekends in detention with Snape and had lost Slytherin a hefty amount of points that had been taken from Slytherin. Harry may like Draco, but he really needed to see that nothing good would come out of antagonising Gryffindors like that - only cauldron-scrubbing and toad livers. 

On Thursday morning, Halloween, Harry woke up to see Draco at his desk. Draco hadn’t sent his parents a letter in a while. While he’d never seen what Draco was writing, Harry knew that Draco’s parents weren’t pleased with Draco. Draco looked sick after one particular letter and threw himself into writing letter after letter, deep into the night. 

Draco was terribly homesick. He kept talking about the Manor and the gardens. Harry had responded by taking him to the kitchens so the house elves could whip him up something nice. He’d used his dad’s invisibility cloak to do it, and had barely missed Filch and his bug-eyed cat Mrs Norris on the way back. Draco was shocked that Harry had gone there with Pansy before going with him. That seemed to have done the trick. 

Harry had stopped writing the Tonkses weekly. He had guessed it was because he didn’t really do many interesting things but could tell them about two weeks worth of things if it came up. Dora began to send him things from Gambol and Japes’, a joke shop in Hogsmeade. Harry knew Draco had taken some to play pranks on Gryffindors, but Dora assured Harry that they were harmless and easily countered. 

The rest of Slytherin house also seemed to loosen up and begin to tolerate or at least ignore Harry’s presence. The inspections had stopped the week before. Draco and Harry still went down at the same time and met Pansy, Vincent, and Greg at the bottom of the stairs. They walked out of the common room together towards breakfast. 

Harry noticed that the dungeons had been decorated with skulls and very creepy looking masks. As they came out and crossed the bridge, they noticed candles fastened to the rock with sticking charms had been placed on the railings.

‘Why did they decorate so much?’ asked Harry. 

‘All our traditions have a reason, Harry,’ Draco said. ‘In this case, Halloween is when the barriers of our world and all others are at its weakest. All sorts of creatures can pass through. We can even speak to the dead sometimes. The candles are there to guide them back to our world, the masks to give them a space to speak through.’

‘Really?’ They’d reached the courtyard. There was an early morning game of Exploding Snap, where the cards exploded (of course) and singed off eyebrows. Harry was ace at it. Draco thought it was an uncivilized waste of time. 

Pansy sighed. ‘Of course not really. No one can speak to the dead or cross into other worlds. They don’t exist.’

‘I find your lack of faith disturbing,’ said Draco. Harry whipped to look at Draco, who didn’t have a smirk. He obviously didn’t know what he said. He chuckled quietly to himself. 

‘So what do wizards do on Halloween?’ said Harry, holding open the door for Pansy and the others.

‘Oh, lots of divination, mainly,’ Pansy said. ‘Sympathetic magic too. Lots to do with keeping warm during the winter, that sort of thing.’ 

‘To the more traditional, it’s also when you go out and clean the family graves and light bonfires to burn some of their things as an offering,’ Draco said. ‘Last year, we burned one of my grandmother’s doilies. We have loads of them. I suspect my grandchildren will be burning them long after I’m gone.’

Harry laughed. Vincent held the door open to the Great Hall. The smell of baking pumpkins wafted through the hall delightfully. No doubt the house elves were cooking something extraordinary for tonight’s feast in the kitchens below. 

‘My family celebrates Samhain. We always have,’ offered Greg. 

‘What’s that?’ asked Harry. 

‘Gaelic holiday,’ Draco said. ‘Same as ours, really. Same purpose anyway.’

‘We’re more into the spirits side of it, I s’pose,’ Greg said. ‘They actually do come, you know.’

Pansy shook her head. ‘Sure they do.’

The owl post came in. Pansy looked up as a small barn owl landed next to McLaggen. The boy had been horrible to the other first year Slytherins but had largely avoided Harry. Harry noticed a small box of Honeydukes chocolates that the owl was standing on. 

‘Harry, watch this,’ she said, gesturing with her head over to the Gryffindor table with her creepy, all-powerful smile of doom and death. Harry paled. 

The barn owl landed in front of McLaggen’s placemat. As he opened the box of Honeydukes chocolate the owl was carrying and plucked one out, he was showered in something clear but  _ more  _ than water. He yelped and blindly ran out of the hall. 

‘Please don’t tell me-’

‘Ahh,’ Pansy said. ‘Vengeance is  _ sweet _ .’

‘We all contributed a little,’ Vincent said. He mimed spitting into his goblet. Greg nodded. 

‘You’re kidding,’ said Harry faintly. 

‘Even I did,’ said Draco. ‘Halloween is also a time for trickery, you know.’

‘Er, thanks guys,’ Harry said. ‘How on earth did you do it?’

‘A girl has her ways,’ Pansy said airily. ‘Eat up, Draco, you look like you’re going to fall over.’

‘I don’t really feel like it,’ said Draco. Harry did notice he was rather glum.

‘Alright, Draco?’ asked Vincent. 

‘Not even the sausages?’ Greg prodded. ‘You love them.’

‘I do not,’ snapped Draco. He crossed his arms. A large box of chocolates was left on the space in front of him by his owl and his expression softened.

‘He misses his parents,’ whispered Harry to Pansy. She gave him a knowing look. 

‘Are you ever going to share those?’ asked Greg.

‘Certainly not.’

‘You eat half the box in a day and I know you don’t brush your teeth,’ said Harry. 

‘Brush my teeth?!’ Draco exclaimed.’ Like a farm animal?’

‘No, with a toothbrush. You know, the-’

‘-Some Muggle invention no doubt,’ Draco said dismissively. ‘I’ll have you know that Healers can regrow teeth and do so frequently.’

Harry didn’t like that image of Draco letting his teeth rot only for Madam Pomfrey to pluck them out and regrow them. He shuddered. The combination of Draco’s mood, McLaggen’s chocolates, and  _ that  _ image was really putting him off eating ever again. 

‘Oh don’t be such a baby,’ chided Draco. Pansy looked at him critically. 

‘I am not! It’s gross!’

‘Says you with your farm brush.’

‘It’s not a-’

‘Boys,’ Pansy interjected. ‘It’s nothing to fuss over. Harry has his farm brush, Draco has his bum teeth and chocolate hoard.’

Both boys looked offended. Pansy smiled triumphantly. Greg and Vincent ate on. 

‘You and your strange hang-ups,’ Draco said absently. ‘If you had been in my family, you would know all this stuff.’

‘Well I wasn’t, was I?’ Harry spat. ‘If you haven’t realised by now, I haven’t got any family left.’

‘Harry, he didn’t mean it like that,’ Pansy said. ‘Draco, you’re no fun when you’re homesick. Harry, it’s far too early for these shenanigans.’

Harry sighed and shook his head. Greg gave him a solid thump on the shoulder. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand why Draco was being more fussy than usual. Some part of Harry still missed the Dursleys, even if he was perfectly happy with the Tonkses and very happy at Hogwarts. Not having them was sort of like not having his parents all over again. Harry felt a little lost, even if he knew that they had kicked him out for being magic. He didn’t like feeling abandoned twice-over. 

He looked curiously on as Draco began to silently pass Vincent a bonbon. Vincent ate it with aplomb. After a short pause, Draco gave them all some chocolates. Harry ate his and really liked the nougat. Draco smiled an apology to him. 

Absently, he turned to the Head Table. Professor Dumbledore was there, dressed in unusually subdued robes of grey and silver. He was talking quietly with Professor Snape, who looked like Draco had when he entered - subdued and grouchy. Harry didn’t really know why. 

After breakfast, Pansy excused herself and Harry from the others and sped ahead.

‘I’ve been thinking about that Cerberus. We haven’t found anything on it, even now.’

‘I know.’

‘Should we tell them about it?’ she whispered.

‘Not Vincent and Greg,’ Harry replied. ‘I don’t think they’d care too much. Draco though - he’s more knowledgeable about these things than you and I are.’

Pansy shrugged. They rejoined the group and walked to Charms. 

Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Neville Longbottom’s toad zoom around the classroom. 

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practise. 

Harry’s partner was Lawrence Bletchley (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron, however, was to be working with Pansy. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Pansy was angrier about this. 

‘Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practising!’ squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. ‘Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.’ 

It was very difficult. 

Harry and Bletchley swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skywards just lay on the desktop. Bletchley got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it – Harry had to put it out with his sleeve. 

Ron Weasley, at the next table, wasn’t having much more luck. ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill. 

‘You’re saying it wrong,’ Harry heard Pansy snap. ‘It’s Winggar-dium Levi-o-sa.’ 

‘You do it, then, if you’re so clever,’ Ron snarled. 

Pansy rolled up the sleeves of her robe, flicked her wand and said, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ 

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. 

‘Oh, well done!’ cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. ‘Everyone see here, Miss Parkinson’s done it!’ 

Weasley was in a very bad temper by the end of the class. Pansy, Draco, and Harry spent four hours of their free time taking the mickey out of Weasley until they sped off to lunch.

After lunch and a very stressful experiment in Potions (they were making Cure for Boil potions after writing half-metre essays on them), the Slytherins returned to Quirrell’s classroom for another rousing lecture straight from the apparently three-hundred year old textbook. Draco had said it was updated, but not very often. Wizards apparently trusted older books more than newer ones. That didn’t make much sense to Harry. 

They had moved on recently to studying trolls and giants. Despite his best efforts, Quirrell’s stutter and lack of confidence made it really, really hard to follow and appreciate the lecture. Apparently, Quirrell was an expert with trolls. No one really believed him. After talking a bit on how trolls had influenced wizarding history, he began to list legislation limiting their territory.

Vincent had had trouble with copying from the book since the first day but really enjoyed listening. He asked Quirrell once more to spell out a word for him. This time, it was “Luxembourg”, the country that nearly left the International Confederation of Wizards over the definition of trolls as fully sentient Beings. As Quirrell turned to write it on the board for others’ benefit, Harry once again felt a horrible pain in his forehead coming from his scar. 

Harry was confused. It had never hurt before, and it had never hurt as much as it did when he was in Quirrell’s class when Crabbe asked for the spelling of words and Quirrell turned around to write it as he spelled it aloud as well. 

After Defense Against the Dark Arts was over, Harry went to the library to research. He wanted to know more about curse scars and why his hurt so much. He set his things down at an empty table and went to ask Madam Pince for help finding a book.

‘Er, excuse me-’

‘Yes?’ she said, looking up from her book and down her nose at him. 

‘Is there a book on curse scars that I can read?’ Harry stuttered. He half expected her to jump out of her chair and breathe fire on him. 

‘Fairly Dark subject matter there, Potter,’ she said. ‘The ones I know of off-hand are in the Restricted Section. I know your curriculum doesn’t cover them. Why do you need it?’

‘Personal reasons,’ Harry said. Pince looked at him critically.

‘I’m afraid not, Potter,’ she said. ‘If you’re curious, go talk to Madame Pomfrey or Professor Quirrell. Good day.’ Pince returned to her book, and Harry scowled as he returned to his table. He didn’t know she’d be such a pain. Ms Valois would’ve helped him in a heartbeat. 

When he returned, he noticed Granger was sitting across from him, finishing her Potions worksheet. She looked up, scowled, but made no move to leave. Harry returned to his chair and thought about all the times he’d interacted with her. It amounted to zero. He’d never even spoken to her. Why was she so unfriendly?

‘Did I do something to you?’ Harry asked rather boldly.

‘You’re in Slytherin,’ she whispered back. 

Harry groaned. He half expected this. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.’

‘Do you know how many Dark wizards have come out of Slytherin?’ she asked. ‘How about its founder? He wanted to kill all the Muggleborns apparently.’

‘Yeah, I do,’ Harry replied. ‘I defeated one of them, you know.’

‘Yes,’ she sniffed. ‘I suppose you did. I read all about you. You know, everyone speculated you’d be in Gryffindor. After all-’

‘My parents were in Gryffindor, right,’ Harry said impatiently. He wasn’t whispering anymore. ‘I’m not like other Slytherins. Didn’t you see I was the only Slytherin in Professor Hardwick’s class? How can I be a Dark wizard if I don’t even know how to be a wizard?’

‘OUT!’ Madam Pince shouted. She twirled her wand and their two chairs sped them out of the library and dumped them onto the ground. Their bags landed next to them, along with Hermione’s book. 

‘Sorry,’ Harry said. He rubbed his side. He was sure Pince’s chair had left a bruise. 

‘No,  _ I’m  _ sorry,’ Granger said. She dusted off her robes and handed Harry his bag. ‘I shouldn’t have been so stupid. Of course you wouldn’t be a dark wizard.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Hermione.’

‘Harry,’ he replied, shaking it.

‘Really this house business is all a bit mad, isn’t it?’ she continued. They walked down the hall aimlessly. ‘Of course, I understand why they did it. I just wish…’

Harry looked at her tie. She was wearing yellow and black. ‘Did you want to be in Ravenclaw?’ He guessed that, given how much she seemed to have prepared. 

‘Oh I don’t know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I suppose Hufflepuff’s alright.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘We do have to share a space with the boys though.’

‘What?’ Harry said. He laughed a little at Hermione’s expense. ‘That’s horrible.’

‘I know!’ she cried. ‘ _ Tell _ me there’s something similar in Slytherin.’

Harry shook his head. ‘We have roommates.’

‘Roommates?!’ Hermione repeated shrilly. She looked out of sorts.

‘Yeah, but it’s not all wonderful,’ Harry said seriously. 

He told Hermione about the Rules, not what they were, but about the existence of them. He couldn’t very well break the Rules so early, after all. She didn’t seem pleased with the amount of information Harry had given her and he just knew even after a short time of knowing her that she’d go back into the library to research the infamous Slytherin House Rules. He doubted that she would find anything though. Slytherins were infamously cagey. Apparently.

‘I guess I can live with the dormitory now that I know that,’ Hermione said. ‘Who’s your roommate?’

Harry thought it over. He guessed it wasn’t really a secret. ‘Draco Malfoy.’

Hermione scowled. 

‘What’s wrong?’

‘He wasn’t very nice to me at all, don’t you remember?’ she said. They had reached the Transfiguration Courtyard. ‘Of course, I guess I expected it. Him being in Slytherin and all.’

‘He wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Harry said truthfully. 

‘How is he as a roommate?’

‘Oh he’s fine. We get on famously. He’s not so bad, once you get past the snark.’

‘I suppose,’ Hermione said carefully. She shifted on the bench.

Alarm bells went off in Harry’s head. ‘But you and I are friends too, right?’

‘I guess,’ she said carefully.

‘Potter!’ a voice yelled. Harry looked over to see Theodore Nott approaching them. ‘Couldn’t find any friends in your own house? Had to resort to Mudbloods now?’

‘Stop it,’ Harry said. 

‘Or what? She’ll throw a book at me?’ Nott said. ‘You’ll tell on me to McGonagall?’

‘Both,’ Harry said. He looked to Hermione, who looked very, very distraught.

‘Lousy Mudblood,’ Nott spat. ‘Always something to prove, isn’t there?’

Hermione hit Nott over the head with her book and sped off. Harry glared at him. He whirled around and walked off in a different direction. He wouldn’t report Nott to McGonagall. That’d be too easy. He’d ask Pansy for a suggestion. He didn’t know where Hermione had gone off to, but hoped that she was alright. He would see her during the feast. 

Harry rushed to the Slytherin common room and waited calmly for the secret passageway to open. He found Pansy and Draco in their usual window seat. He gestured wildly for them and bolted up the stairs, hoping they would get the hint. Moments later, they both appeared. 

‘What is the cause of your uncouth behavior?’ Draco said.

Harry told the two of them about the confrontation between Nott, him, and Hermione. 

‘Write to his father,’ Pansy said immediately. ‘Clearly that boy has a chip on his shoulder.’

‘Write to Nott’s father,’ Draco said. ‘Tell him he’s been cavorting with Gryffindors.’

Harry glared at the two of them. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘He insulted your friend,’ Draco said. ‘We Slytherins don’t hold back. Reciprocity, you know.’

‘Yes, but we have to go through the proper channels,’ Harry argued.

‘Yeah,’ Pansy said. ‘Writing to his father is a perfectly proper channel. A capital one.’

The two of them gathered around Harry’s desk. ‘Absolutely not,’ Harry said firmly as he sat down. ‘The man broke a ruler on Nott’s knuckles. Besides, I have no idea-’

‘Oh shush,’ Draco said. He took Harry’s paper. ‘Father taught me a charm to change handwriting. I’ll write, you’ll sign, it’ll look like you wrote whatever I did. You don’t even have to send it.’

Harry was shocked. ‘You can  _ do  _ that?’

Draco scoffed. ‘Can I ever? Have you ever seen Marcus Flint do a single assignment?’

Flint was the Quidditch captain. In the few times he’d seen him, Harry had noticed Flint had been handed several papers, but never written any. It all made sense now.

‘That’s cheating,’ Harry declared. 

‘Oh, Harry, everyone does it,’ Pansy said. She sighed when Harry looked at her critically. ‘Yes, I suppose it is cheating. It’s an open secret. His father’s one of the Governors. Dumbledore really can’t kick him out.’

‘That’s horrible,’ Harry said.

Draco shrugged. ‘If the wand still sparks, don’t buy another.’

‘Draco’s father is also a governor,’ Pansy said. 

‘Oh, that explains it,’ Harry said. Draco’s cheeks tinged. He continued to write the letter. 

Harry interrupted to make word changes and things like that. Harry would never write “inconceivable” in a letter, for instance. When they had finally edited it to an acceptable form, Harry signed his name to it. Draco muttered a spell and Harry watched as Draco’s practiced script turned into Harry’s casual scratch, perfectly matching the signature below.

‘Delightful,’ Pansy said drolly. ‘Now there’s the matter of a duel.’

‘I didn’t think we were allowed to duel,’ Harry said. ‘Why would I want to duel him?’

‘He besmirched your honour,’ Draco said. ‘You have every right to duel him. The letter’s just an incentive.’

‘This all sounds  _ very  _ eighteenth century,’ Harry said.

‘Try the eleventh century when all these rules were written,’ Pansy said. ‘Draco’s right. You’ll need to formally challenge him. If he doesn’t accept, you’ve every right to… what was it?’

‘Exact undue penalty against the offender,’ Draco said.

‘Oh god,’ Harry said. He never thought he’d have to duel Nott. ‘What undue penalty?’

‘Compensation, mainly. You can name anything that he has in his possession, except his wand unfortunately. I heard a Black in the nineteen-tens asked one of Ernest Macmillan’s ancestor’s hand in marriage as compensation. They were in love though, so it all worked out.’

‘What happens if he doesn’t give it over?’

‘Instant death!’ Pansy yelled. Harry balked. ‘Only joking. If he doesn’t, it’s grounds for a blood feud. Come to think of it, you could also duel McLaggen.’

‘This seems a little too much-’

‘Unequal force to the offended,’ Draco said. ‘Nott knew what he was getting into. If he didn’t, he’s more of an idiot than I thought.’

‘But this was Hermione’s offense-’

‘She’s not in Slytherin,’ Draco said. ‘She’s also not… you know. She’s not aristocratic. The rules are different.’

‘The rules are stupid.’

‘If the wand sparks-’

‘Do you know what happened to Hermione though?’ Harry asked Pansy.

‘Rumour is she’s in the girl’s toilet crying,’ Pansy said. ‘You can’t see her until after the feast. Feasts are mandatory.’

‘But she’s crying and my friend,’ Harry said. 

‘She’ll be fine,’ Pansy said, ‘You can’t go in there anyway.’

‘Stupid rules,’ Harry grumbled. The bell rang for the feast. Harry tucked his father’s invisibility cloak in his bag when Pansy and Draco left. He was going to see Hermione. He put the letter in his desk and used a locking charm to keep Draco from sending it. 

Unlike most days, there was an inspection. Apparently there was one on feast days, regardless if they usually were inspected or not. Draco was under special scrutiny. When she came to Harry, she paused.

‘Why are you bringing your bag, Potter?’

‘Er, I was going to read.’

‘At a feast?’

‘Yes, Farley,’ he said. She looked at him curiously but said nothing more. Harry sighed in relief. 

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. 

Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, ‘Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.’ 

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. 

There was uproar. It took several blasts like firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

‘Prefects! Take a count of your students,’ he shouted. ‘Report any who are missing to Mr Filch. Professors, with me!’

Harry quickly took the cloak out of his bag. He realised in a moment that Hermione was in the lavatory. Which one?

‘Which lavatory, Pansy?’ Harry asked. ‘Where’s Hermione?’

‘Harry what is- You can’t-’ Pansy faltered.

‘Tell me!’ Harry exclaimed.

‘First floor, but Harry the roll-’

‘By all means come with me if you want,’ Harry snapped. Pansy and Draco looked at each other before diving under the cloak with Harry. The three of them followed the Professors out of the hall without a hitch, the pandemonium ensuring they weren’t seen. Professor Quirrell stirred and bolted out of the hall.

The three of them walked under the cloak until they were out of sight of the Professors. Most of them went to the dungeons. Quirrell went up moments after. Harry thought this was strange, but didn’t have much time to investigate. 

Pansy, Draco, and Harry made it to the first floor girl’s lavatory. Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean. And then they heard it – a low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. 

Draco pointed: at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving towards them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight. It was a horrible sight. 

Eight feet tall, the troll’s skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small head bald like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor behind it. The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside, then waddled slowly into the room.

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Pansy whispered. ‘We should wait. Call for help.’

‘They’re all in the dungeons, it’ll be too late!’ Harry said. He rushed in.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went. 

‘Oi, you great galoob!’ yelled Pansy from the other side of the chamber, and she threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn’t even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout towards Pansy, giving Harry time to run around it. 

‘Come on, run,  _ run! _ ’ Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her towards the door, but she couldn’t move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror. The troll roared again and started towards Draco, who was nearest and had no way to escape. 

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: he took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll’s neck from behind. The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wand had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life. Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright. Draco pulled out his own wand – not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ 

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, on to its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face. Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath.

‘Oh my... Oh Merlin,’ Pansy breathed. She and Draco were huddled together, their robes soaked through from the spray of the damaged sinks. Harry retrieved his wand and wiped it off on the troll’s trousers. He knew he’d have to repolish it when he returned to the dormitory. 

A side door slammed open. Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell stepped through and looked at the scene in front of them. Professor Quirrell took one look at the troll and promptly fainted again. 

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Professor McGonagall asked. Harry flinched. He had never seen her so angry. ‘Why aren’t you four in the Hall?’

Harry gulped, his mouth running dry. He looked to Hermione, who still looked out of her wits. 

‘Please ma’am, they were after me,’ she said. ‘I was in here crying and I missed the feast. I didn’t hear… well, and then-’

Professor McGonagall shook her head. Her anger fled. ‘Very well, Miss Granger. If you would, join your housemates as the feast is resuming.’

Hermione left. She turned slowly towards the three of them.

‘Why was Miss Granger crying?’

‘It was Nott, ma’am,’ said Draco. ‘Harry told us Nott called her a Mudblood.’

McGonagall gasped. ‘That horrible- Oh! Poor girl.’ Snape looked livid but hid it well. 

‘Five points will be awarded to each of you,’ Snape said. ‘Not many first year students could contend with even a juvenile mountain troll and live to tell the tale. Rejoin your classmates.’

‘Er, Professor,’ Pansy said. She gestured to their robes. 

Snape rolled his eyes and sent a funnel of air after them, which wiped away all evidence and left their robes feeling crisp and starched. They all went to the feast. Harry noticed that Snape was walking with a horrible limp. 

Harry collected his discarded Invisibility cloak from the corner and carried it unnoticed back to the feast, putting it back into his bag. They found Vincent and Greg at their end of the table. 

‘Where have you three been?’ asked Vincent. 

‘Oh, you know. Saving Hufflepuffs, defeating mountain trolls,’ Pansy drawled, looking at her nails.

‘It was ever so fun,’ Draco said. The two boys looked at them owlishly. 

Harry sniffed and returned to his jacket potato. The three of them shared a small smile.

After the feast, Hermione waved them over. It seems someone had dried off her robes as well, or she had quickly changed. In any case, she was giving them all a small smile.

‘I just wanted to thank you all,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I would’ve gotten out of there alive if you-’

‘Save it, Granger,’ Draco said with a scowl. ‘We did it for Harry.’

Hermione frowned at having been interrupted, but nevertheless turned to the two others. ‘Thanks.’

She scurried off. Draco gave a disdainful sniff and earned a shove from Pansy. It was clear that Draco had a long way to go. Harry knew Pansy did too, but she showed a little tact that Draco seemed to lack around anyone except for him. 

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out an eight-foot mountain troll is one of them.

Draco, Pansy, and Harry returned to the common room. Harry waved them back upstairs and Draco once again invited Pansy inside. 

‘Good lord, I just want to go to bed,’ Draco whined. ‘What is it with you two?’

‘We’ve hardly done this,’ Pansy noted.

‘Twice in the same day,’ Draco whined again. Pansy kicked him. ‘Oh would you stop that?’

‘I will if you promise to behave,’ she bargained.

‘Stop it,’ Harry said. Pansy huffed. ‘Draco we’d like to let you in on our mystery.’

‘Mystery?’ Draco repeated. He shot up, all dramatics forgotten.

‘Yes, you dolt. Can’t you hear?’ asked Pansy with a smirk.

‘Only, you can’t tell your parents anything,’ amended Harry. 

Draco’s look went pensieve. Harry knew because this was how he was used to telling his parents everything. Well, he  _ had  _ been used to it.

‘Alright,’ he said.

Harry nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll start.’

‘How long of a mystery is this?’

‘Pretty long,’ Pansy confessed. Draco moaned but didn’t protest any further.

‘Well it all began when I was getting my supplies,’ Harry said. ‘I went with McGonagall to Gringotts and we went to my vault. I didn’t know I had so much money. We then went to this one vault and McGonagall took out this funny little package. Nothing else was in the vault. 

‘Fast forward to about a month ago and I look at the paper and-’

‘Was this at Hagrid’s?’ asked Pansy.

‘Yeah, at Hagrid’s,’ Harry nodded. ‘I was curious because the break-in was on the same day and McGonagall had sworn me to secrecy about the little package. I knew it was important because she had a letter from the headmaster.’

Draco looked shocked. ‘If I ever tell you-’

‘So I go to McGonagall’s office for a tea and a chat and I bring up the break in and she tells me not to go into it,’ Harry said, interrupting Draco. 

‘Well that confirms that they did try to steal whatever McGonagall was taking,’ said Pansy. 

‘Yeah, it did sort of confirm it. So whatever was in the vault, someone had tried to steal. Pansy and I were going to Quirrell’s review.’

‘Oh Merlin,’ Draco gasped. ‘He’s ghastly.’

‘It was her idea,’ Harry said, pointing to Pansy. ‘We ended up on the third floor and Pansy-’

‘It was horrible,’ Pansy shuddered. ‘They have a  _ Cerberus  _ on the third floor corridor.’ Now Draco looked sick. ‘You know, the one they’re apparently renovating. It was standing on a trap door.’

‘That’s where it is!’ Draco exclaimed. He grinned as he pieced it all together. ‘Whatever package Professor McGonagall took- so valuable for someone to break into Gringotts to steal, is at Hogwarts under a three-headed dog!’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Exactly.’

Pansy leaned on Draco’s headboard, looking thoughtful. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd that Quirrell, who said he had an affinity for trolls just a few hours ago faints when he sees one?’

‘It’s Quirrell,’ Draco said dismissively. ‘He’s afraid of his own turban.’

‘That’s another thing. I saw Quirrell go up when the other professors were going to the dungeons,’ Pansy said, biting her lip. ‘I think Quirrell set the troll loose.’

‘Why?’ asked Harry. 

Pansy’s eyes widened. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she said. ‘Quirrell’s trying to steal the object on the third floor!’

‘Oh come on,’ Draco said. ‘You don’t even know  _ he  _ knows what’s under that trapdoor.’

‘Then again, isn’t it odd that he was going the other way?’ mused Harry. 

‘Well the troll was on the first floor,’ Draco said. Realisation hit him. ‘But he wasn’t going to the first floor! He was going even higher. It was a diversion.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Pansy snidely. Draco stuck out his tongue at her.

‘We still have no evidence,’ he said. ‘We can’t just accuse him of stealing an object we know nothing about without hard evidence. It’s not the way things are done.’

‘Well, there is something,’ Harry said. ‘My scar kind of tingles when I’m around him.’

‘You never said anything about that!’ exclaimed Pansy. Harry flinched. ‘Sorry, Harry. I’m shocked is all.’

‘I didn’t want to cause a fuss,’ Harry said.

‘Harry, we’re your friends. Fuss is what it’s supposed to be all about,’ Pansy said gently, with a significant look to Draco. 

‘Curse scars are Dark stuff,’ Draco said. ‘I could ask my father-’ Pansy shook her head violently. ‘Or you could ask Professor Snape. He’s a genius at Defense Against the Dark Arts, you know.’

Harry thought it over. He knew Professor Snape knew his mother and had been her best friend. Then again, if it really was nothing, he definitely wouldn’t want to bother him about it. 

A better opportunity to say something would come along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait until tomorrow! 
> 
> And so, we have another to add to the conspiracy, and another to add to Harry's friend group. 
> 
> Anything you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, and there's even a line there from Star Wars.


	14. Books and Bludgers

The past few months had been the most unusual in Hermione’s life by far. She was ecstatic when her letter arrived and more so when Professor Sprout visited to explain everything there was to know about Hogwarts. Well, she wasn’t really ecstatic because Sprout couldn’t tell her the many, many questions she had had. 

Of course, she’d catalogued up to that point every ‘strange’ incident she had: turning toothpaste into cream cheese at 9, levitating books at 8, and turning on lamps with a point at 4, were her highlights. Hermione’s favorite book had always been  _ Matilda  _ by Roald Dahl, and now she could learn how to do something ever so similar to her seemingly unimaginably fantastical powers. 

Like everything before finding out she was a witch, Hermione had applied herself fully to figuring out the basics before she arrived. She had made flashcards, wrote extensive notes, taken observations. Yet even after she bought the standard course books for the next three years, there just seemed so much more to it, something that she couldn’t necessarily learn on her own. Lucky then, that she was going to a school for it. 

She felt that she had so much to learn to catch up to everyone else. After all, Professor Sprout had explained there were a lot of students who grew up in magical families. Hermione couldn’t stand that disadvantage. It was very unfair, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t they told her earlier? She would have been a lot less stressed about trying to catch up if they had. 

Apparently, the wizarding world had grown up alongside the Muggle world until 1692 when an international body, kind of like the United Nations, all gathered and agreed that for the safety of wizardkind (which had been persecuted up to that point extensively by a lot of different Muggles), that they would disconnect their world and keep it secret as much as they could, to disappear in plain sight. It was all so impressive, Hermione thought. They must have had a lot of different spells to hide buildings, magical creatures, even magic in such a small period of time. She wondered if any evidence remained.

Oh but then she actually  _ went  _ to Hogwarts. It never mattered so much to her before to fit in, but now she logically knew that at least the Muggleborns had to have been outsiders like her. Yet she found that Hogwarts was in some ways just like her old school. Fitting in never mattered as much as it did here, especially amongst people who actually knew how all of this magic worked and could tell her very easily. She wanted to help them as well, but also felt like she knew nothing, that she would have to try even harder to be even basically proficient. 

Being sorted into Hufflepuff was a surprise. She had read all about the houses, so she could make an informed decision. She didn’t like how Slytherin was the only one to exclude people like her- Muggleborns. It was also pretty unfair. She did like the sound of Gryffindor, of all those brave activists doing what they felt was right. Ravenclaw didn’t sound too bad but from what she had read of Quentin Trimble and Uric the Oddball, they tended to be on the more creative side of intelligence. Hermione was not creative, she knew that about herself. 

Hufflepuff though didn’t have a stellar reputation. They didn’t have Slytherin’s reputation by any means, but they had one for being goody-two shoes, workaholics, and also, strangely enough,  _ lazy _ . Hermione had always been called the first two and she tried not to let it get near her because it did hurt but… the people there weren’t so willing to let her forget.

It was frustrating that what she had heard about Hufflepuff and what she was experiencing wasn’t the same thing. Sure, they did work, but often left it to the last moment. They were loyal, but only to a few people and rarely went out of the comfort zone. Hermione had worked, had ducked her head out of the way of other people who weren’t interested in all the little bits of things that she knew and could share with them and she was fine.

_ She  _ was.

She  _ was _ .

She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t ever been fine. It was one of the worst parts of being who she was, what she was, in school. She knew she was different. She knew she always would be looked down on for liking books more than people but needing people to talk to before she popped. So what if she talked trivia to decompress?

Then she met Harry Potter. 

She had been less-than-polite, which he hadn’t deserved. She half expected him to tell her off for not going outside and playing Exploding Snap like the Hufflepuffs had taken to, or else ignoring her until he needed help with a potions assignment. But he hadn’t. He had asked her how she felt, and told her personal things. Treated her like a human. 

Then reality came crashing down. Few people were like Harry. Nott was not one of those people.

Something within her broke when he called her a Mudblood and getting right to the heart of it that she did have something to prove. After she heard it for the last time, the rulebook she had fashioned over seven years just seemed to not matter as much to her anymore. She was so overworked and frustrated and alone and just so tired of it all. 

Then the troll came into the bathroom where she was hiding. It had been her first taste of actual, primal, horrible fear. She had frozen up. Nothing could prepare her for this. She didn’t know anything, couldn’t prepare anything against something she had never seen. It scared her more than death, to know that in that moment she had to rely on people.

Yet that had always been a problem, she realised. She couldn’t be aloof from people just because a few had hurt her in the past. Not only was it really damaging her, she’d have no one to share everything with. Her dad always said that nothing is worth more than something that you share with others. Hermione wanted to take that to heart now.

Looking around her, Hermione knew she was very out of place. For one thing, she was the only Hufflepuff in the Slytherin stands of the Quidditch pitch, sitting next to a famous wizard (Harry) and another wizard who by all accounts hated her the moment she arrived (Draco Malfoy). 

She was at a Quidditch game - the beginning of one anyway. It was Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, the first match of the season. It wasn’t her idea to join in, but it was a great opportunity to consciously overcome her prejudices, both by sitting with Slytherins and going to a sports match. It was the least she could do for the three of them since they  _ had  _ saved her from certain death. 

‘Are you alright, Hermione?’ asked Harry.

‘Oh yeah, just reading,’ replied Hermione. She flipped to the next page of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ . She had brought it with her. She didn’t think she’d be excited by sport. She hadn’t been before. 

‘This is Quidditch, Granger, the wizarding sport,’ Draco said. ‘And you bring a  _ book _ .’

‘So?’ Hermione said. ‘It’s a sport. I read whenever my mum puts on tennis.’

‘What on earth is tennis?’ wondered Pansy idly. 

‘I thought it would be boring too, but it’s wicked fun to watch,’ Harry said. ‘Draco and I went to one of the practices and they put on a mock game.’

‘It’s nothing to the real thing though,’ Pansy Parkinson said. ‘Hufflepuff and Slytherin are next.’

‘Should we move to the intersection then?’ asked Harry. He looked over where the decorations for the Slytherin stands and the Hufflepuff stands met. 

‘No, I’m not terribly invested,’ Hermione said. ‘Slytherin all the way, in my book.’

‘Don’t let them catch you saying that,’ muttered Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy had been nervous about letting Hermione sit with them, probably due to his house’s policy on Muggleborns. Harry had argued strongly for her to be there. Hermione allowed the compromise that she would be under Harry’s invisibility cloak instead of moving to a neutral stand. It seemed like a dumb solution, but Hermione wasn’t going to argue now since it had taken ages for Draco and Harry to sort out some of their differences, according to Pansy. 

The match started. Hermione put her book down for a moment and watched as the players took to the skies. A Gryffindor was officiating. So much for a neutral observer. She flipped to the next page. 

Malfoy and Harry were babbling over her head, as if she were truly not there. Eventually she got tired of it and asked to switch seats with Pansy. She obliged. Since they were at the end of the front row, Hermione could barely see. 

What was strange was, though Pansy had explained that Harry, Malfoy, and her came from an aristocratic background, she and Harry seemed to have far fewer hangups about being seen with her than Draco did. She wondered idly if Draco’s parents were the cause. She had asked, but Malfoy wasn’t willing to talk to her about it. 

She wouldn’t understand, apparently. 

Hermione put the book down. The noise was unbearable. 

‘What’s happening?’ she asked Pansy.

‘The Ravenclaws just sunk in two penalty shots. The Gryffindors are sure to be last this year.’

‘Oh good,’ Hermione said faintly. 

She heard a whoosh above her head. 

A crack. 

Pansy dove for Hermione, knocking her book out of her hand. A beam fell where the two of them were sitting and slid off into the pitch. Hermione caught her breath and looked around wildly. She noticed the canopy was gone. Madam Hooch’s whistle was blowing. 

Draco was scrambling to his feet, helping Harry get up as well. A black ball the size of a cannonball- Hermione identified it as a Bludger- was flying in chaotic spurts and hurtling towards them again. Hermione heard the students around them fleeing. Pansy took out her wand, screaming in agony as her wrist was shattered. 

Hermione backed up against the wall. She looked around wildly, noticing that the teacher’s box was in sight of them. Why was that important? The bludger swung around and buried itself in the floorboard near where Harry was moments before. She heard shouting voices, but couldn’t process where they were coming from. Professor Sinistra tried to disarm the bludger but missed.

‘FINITE!’ Draco shouted. The Bludger imploded, shards of rock or metal or whatever going everywhere. Hermione’s mind snapped back into focus. Hermione helped herself up. 

‘Well done, Mr Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin,’ Professor Sinistra stuttered out. She looked over to see Hermione against a support beam, and Pansy knocked out from the pain. Malfoy helped Harry to his feet once more and seemed to be saying something to him. 

Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape rushed over. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Pansy shattered her wrist,’ Hermione said. ‘I think her wand is in the pitch.’

McGonagall transfigured the broken bench into a gurney. Professor Snape looked over Pansy and whispered some charm. Hermione heard a sickening sort of noise and Pansy gasped in pain. She was put onto the gurney, her wrist was no longer bent out of shape and was wrapped close to her chest. 

Professor Dumbledore was talking with Professor Sinistra, Professor McGonagall to Draco more than Harry, who seemed to be shaking out of his skin. Hermione walked over to her two friends. She saw a huddle of Slytherins and other students kept at bay by Professor Snape. 

‘You didn’t see where the Bludger came from?’ McGonagall asked Draco. Hermione shook her head. 

‘No ma’am,’ Draco said. ‘Can we get Harry and Pansy to the hospital wing?’

Professor Dumbledore turned and set the stands to rights with a flick of his wand. The beam rose and clicked back into place, the canopy’s tear repairing itself.

‘I think you can. The danger has passed,’ McGonagall said. She turned and regarded Hermione. ‘Are you unhurt as well, Miss Granger?’

‘Yes, Professor,’ she said. She felt better than Harry looked in any case. He was white as a sheet. 

At the hospital wing, Hermione remained under the cloak as well-wishers from Slytherin came by Harry and Pansy’s bed. She sat next to Harry, who was being kept overnight for observation.

‘I’m scheduled to duel him,’ said Harry.

‘Who? What?’

‘Nott. The boy who called you… well, you know.’

‘Duel him? Harry you’ve barely begun your schooling, not to mention the ban on magic in the corridors and dueling students.’

‘Not for Nott and me. Professor Snape cleared it with the headmaster. We’re dueling tomorrow at noon in the Transfiguration Courtyard.’

‘Surely you’re going to reconsider, after what happened today.’

‘Today wasn’t bad. Yeah it did scare me a lot, I s’pose,’ Harry said. He shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. Didn’t even get much more than a few splinters. I doubt Nott knows how to bewitch a bludger.’

‘I could do it-’

‘Nah, you can’t. House rule. It confused me when Draco and Pansy said that.’

Vincent came by and moved to sit where Hermione was. ‘Hey, Vincent!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘Would you mind asking Madam Pomfrey to refill my water?’

Vincent nodded and went into Pomfrey’s office.

‘Thanks, Harry,' Hermione said. 'Are you sure you’re still going to-’

‘Yes,’ Harry said firmly. ‘It’s how things are done. Just give the cloak back afterwards.’

Hermione blushed and smiled. She thanked Harry, got up, and scurried off under Harry’s cloak. She took it off in an alcove outside the wing and folded it neatly into her bag. She looked around carefully before returning to her common room. She was touched and a little embarrassed that Harry was going to duel Nott for her. It really didn’t make sense, his behaviour versus what she had heard about Slytherin from her yearmates. 

She made it to the common room using some of the passageways she’d memorised. She was very proud that she had the foresight to go to Filch’s office as soon as she could for the various passwords and what not. There were a lot of portraits though that had passageways whose passwords weren’t on the list. It was far down in Hermione’s lists of priorities, but eventually she would find every password and every passage possible in what spare time she gave herself. 

The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room had bewildered her. On either side of the high dungeon sat very large barrels, apparently once used by Hufflepuff herself for the mead and wine that she and the house elves made. A smaller barrel was set into the back wall. She took out her wand and tapped out “Helga Hufflepuff” on the emblazoned badger on the barrel lid. It slid away to reveal the cheery and  _ very  _ yellow common room. 

Hermione liked the common room well enough. It had a very rounded feel to it, with round archways, an oval layout, and circular banks of chairs. There were many things to see in the common room.  She wasn’t very interested in gardening, but the older students had shown them a passageway to a House-only greenhouse from the common room, bewitched to match the weather and sunlight of the main greenhouses despite being underground.

The chaise longues and squashy armchairs of the main room were covered in dark yellow or brown fabric, and there was a wide coffee table with a big bowl of caramel hard candies in the centre, not far off from the fireplace, which roared merrily and smelled like cinnamon and apples.  In one section, away from the rooms, was a small library with books on Herbology, food magic, and even some fairy tales that came in handy for Hermione’s Introduction to Wizardry presentation on shared Muggle-wizard mythos. Hermione preferred the main library, as it tended to get very noisy at night outside of the dormitories, but the Hufflepuff library did have some interesting volumes not found in the main collection. 

The first year dormitory was on the lowest level of the dormitories. It was a wide open room with curtains around every bed and some partitions for people to change. She had dreaded the dorm and really still didn’t like it too much, sharing a room with boys, but she supposed that she only had half a year more so intellectually it was better not to make a fuss about it. She already had, but had gotten nowhere.  Her housemates were pleasant enough but she felt that she was on the periphery of everything and just looking in. It didn’t help that she was also fairly homesick. She had a standing meeting with Laura Hopkirk, the prefect who led her tour, and she’d been a great help in adjusting to her first year at Hogwarts. 

She looked to see one of her roommates, Hannah Abbott, talking quietly with another girl, Megan Jones. It looked like they were puzzling over the animation charm Professor Flitwick had said would be on the final exam. Hermione took a deep breath. Laura had suggested that she try and find common ground with them, something that she was comfortable with. Hermione supposed she was as comfortable with Charms as she had been with English literature in school, that is to say- as if she were born to it. 

‘Hello, you two. I’m Hermione,’ she said, rather unnecessarily. ‘I couldn’t help but see that you two were working on the charm. I think I’ve got it, if you would like help.’

‘Oh would you, please?’ Hannah said. ‘We’ve been at it for ages. We’re useless at Charms.’

‘No you’re not,’ Hermione said. ‘You just are going at it the wrong way. Here, let me show you…’

By the end of Hermione’s impromptu lesson, Megan and Hannah had asked Hermione to join their study group. While she wouldn’t usually say yes since she didn’t want to be used again, they also asked her if she wanted to join them, since they noticed she also ate alone. She was touched. 

The next day, Hermione took Harry’s cloak and went to the Transfiguration courtyard. Professor Dumbledore had announced that morning that there was a mandatory cleaning of the yard as the Weasley twins had set off two rather large Dungbombs the night before. The two Gryffindors shared a conspiratorial look between them. 

Hermione saw that there was a small ring where the armillary sphere had been and that the usual benches had been cleared entirely. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape stood to the side. Next to Harry was a woman Hermione didn’t recognise, and an older man wearing black silk robes was next to Nott. If she had to guess, the woman was Harry’s guardian and the man was Nott’s father. The woman seemed to be giving Harry some encouragement, while the two Notts stood silently a few feet apart. 

As noon approached, Professor Snape stepped forward. ‘Per the traditions of our noble house, Harry Potter, Lord Minor has invoked his right of reciprocity against Theodore Nott, Heir Minor to the Noble and Ancient House of Nott. 

‘The rules, agreed upon by both parties, are that they both must duel to disarm or incapacitate the other, or until one calls for yield. When I step outside of this ring, the duel may commence. Lord Potter, name your satisfaction.’ 

‘I name my satisfaction to be an apology from Theodore Nott, and nothing more.’

‘Heir Nott, your remedy.’

‘As remediation,’ Nott said with a wicked little grin, ‘We demand the immediate abdication and forfeiture of Potter’s lands and title.’

It sounded rehearsed to Hermione. No doubt it had been, extensively. The woman next to Harry blanched, but Harry looked on impassively. Hermione nearly protested on Harry’s behalf, but remembered at the last moment that she was meant to be hidden. 

‘Very well, the satisfaction and remedy has been named,’ Professor Snape said. ‘By magic’s might, may the best wizard win.’

He stepped outside the circle. The two adults stepped back and the two duellists stepped forward. Hermione gripped the arch post tightly. A part of her couldn’t bear to watch, but she knew she had to. This was for her, after all, even if it was a little antiquated and on Nott’s part a bit too personal. 

Hermione also had read briefly after lunch about wizarding duels. There were lots of different styles, but this one seemed to match one of the oldest ones, the duel of remedy. It was all very medieval, where one noble could ask for anything (except for a life or wand) to satisfy a dispute. As she wasn’t in that category, Hermione couldn’t participate. Still though, why wouldn’t Nott just apologise to her and spare himself any potential humiliation? Then again, why did Harry so foolishly want to duel Nott who most definitely had more experience than Harry had?

It was Nott who fired the first spell. A thin silver arrow raced towards Harry, who flicked his wand and transfigured it into a rubber ball that bounced harmlessly off of him. Harry responded by casting the Jelly Legs Jinx, which nearly made Hermione vomit as Nott’s leg gave out from under him. It was really a nasty spell. Nott retaliated with a quick shower of sparks before setting his legs to rights with the counterjinx. Another arrow, then a barrage of hexes Hermione didn’t recognize. Harry’s face had somehow turned bright green.

There was a lot of smoke, thanks to Harry’s obscurement charm. Nott cleared it with a wind spell. Harry flicked his wand and Nott grabbed at his throat a moment as his tie tightened. Harry took the advantage and wrestled Nott’s wand out of his hand, holding it up in the circle.

‘Mediation has been reached!’ Professor Snape exclaimed. ‘Please grant Mr Nott his wand back as a sign of your agreement.’

Seemingly reluctantly, Harry handed Nott back his wand. Hermione began to clap, but quickly ran to the other side of the courtyard when she realised what she was doing. 

‘Name when and for what you wish Mr Nott to apologise for,’ said Professor Snape. 

‘Tomorrow, in the Great Hall at breakfast.’ Harry said. ‘I want you to apologise to Hermione Granger for calling her a Mudblood. That is my satisfaction.’

‘You can’t-’ Nott sputtered. The man next to him put a firm grip on the boy’s shoulder and he clammed up immediately.

‘Surely there could be a different means for this apology, Lord Potter?’ the man said. ‘Perhaps a written one, or a fiduciary-’

‘He wants it in the Great Hall,’ said the woman firmly. Harry nodded that he agreed with that.

The man scowled. ‘Very well. My son will apologise to Ms Granger as per  _ our  _ ways.’

The parties split, and Madam Pomfrey set the two duelists to rights. Professor Snape gave a sharp nod and summoned the armillary sphere, covering the circle before stalking off. The man removed Nott from the courtyard and seemed to be deep in conversation with the boy. Madam Pomfrey left after a few questions with Harry. 

Hermione took off the cloak and hugged Harry fiercely. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘It was no trouble,’ Harry said. She handed back the cloak to him. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’

‘And miss that?’ Hermione made a vague gesture around the courtyard. ‘How did you think to use the tie charm?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Seemed like a good thing to do. And it worked, didn’t it?’

‘Who is this, Harry?’ the woman asked him. Hermione looked up, startled that she didn’t register the woman being there still. 

‘Oh, Andromeda, this is Hermione. She’s the one I saved from the troll.’

The woman’s eyes lit up in recognition. ‘Hello, Hermione. I’m Andromeda Tonks.’ She offered her hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs. Tonks,’ replied Hermione with a handshake.

‘I heard about the troll,’ Andromeda said. She turned her head slightly and addressed Harry. ‘I didn’t hear, however, that you went after it.’

Harry scratched the back of his neck. ‘Er, sorry?’

Mrs Tonks sighed fondly. ‘Well I suppose I can’t fault you too much, Harry. It was a very special set of circumstances after all. Just… try not to make it a regular thing?’

‘What? Saving people from trolls?’

‘Precisely.’

‘Alright,’ Harry nodded and looked in the far distance dramatically. ‘I’ll save no one from trolls ever again.’

‘What? No, just not - ‘ Mrs Tonks settled herself. ‘Sure.’

‘Mrs Tonks, do you know if the school knows anything more about what happened?’

‘Apparently Mr Filch had fallen asleep and left the door open after lessons,’ Mrs Tonks said. ‘The troll came in while everyone was at the feast.’

It was what Dumbledore had said the night before at dinner. ‘Nothing else? No ghosts saw it, or the portraits?’

‘The ghosts were at Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party,’ Mrs Tonks went on. ‘The portraits did see it, but as there weren’t portraits in the Great Hall, word couldn’t reach you all in time. The troll seemingly let itself in. Professor Quirrell informed the parents that it was probably looking for food.’

At that, Harry seemed to look rather worried.

‘I hope Filch doesn’t get sacked for it,’ said Hermione. 

‘No, everything has been settled. You are alright, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Good. Well Harry, impressively done. I’ll be sure to tell Nymphadora to save you a seat on the training course.' she winked. 'Take care, Hermione.’ Mrs Tonks waved. 

‘Goodbye, Mrs Tonks,’ she said with a wave. Mrs Tonks left the courtyard after patting Harry’s shoulder. Harry looked worried.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hermione asked Harry.

‘Nothing. I’ll tell you later.’

Hermione laughed. ‘Alright then, keep your secrets.’

‘It’s not a secret. Just something a bit more private is all. C’mon, let’s go tell the others.’

Hermione was confused, but followed Harry out of the courtyard without protest. Harry and Hermione walked back to the Library, where Pansy and Draco were waiting for them. Harry motioned for them frantically, and the two other Slytherins came out before Madam Pince noticed them. 

‘You’re in one piece!’ exclaimed Draco. He and Harry hugged.

‘Did you threaten the letter?’ asked Pansy.  Harry rolled his eyes. He explained the letter to Hermione, who didn’t really understand the significance of it. Sure the houses had a rivalry, but that was kid stuff, surely. Nothing rising to the threat Pansy seemed to imply. 

‘So of course I didn’t,’ Harry said. ‘I just told him to apologise to Hermione in front of everyone at breakfast tomorrow.’

‘Why didn’t we think of that?’ Pansy asked Draco. They looked at eachother and burst out laughing. Hermione looked owlishly at the three of them, not really understanding any of it.  As they walked down to a courtyard to study, Hermione told them both about Harry’s duel. Pansy and Draco were both laughing at Nott’s expense all the while, but looked extremely worried when Hermione mentioned Nott’s remedy.

‘He couldn’t ask that,’ said Pansy gravely.

‘Why not?’ Hermione said. ‘It is his right.’

‘Harry’s the last Potter!’ Pansy exclaimed. ‘The last person in his entire House. Forfeiting that would be… oh I dread to think about it.’

‘What’s so bad about it?’ asked Harry. 

Draco let out a long suffering sigh. ‘Oh Harry. If you die, your family magic dies with it. Ever notice how there are a few portraits here that don’t move? Family magic powered most of them. Here, I’ll take you to one.’

Draco led them to the second floor in an unused corridor to a portrait of a wizard who seemed to be trapped mid-wail. Hermione looked away, the expression of pure terror was hard to look at for very long. 

‘This is Harold Limebert, one of the Headmasters here,’ Draco said. ‘He died in 1854 but lived on in some form through his portraits. When his nephew Geoffrey Limebert, his last direct relative, died,  _ he  _ truly died. All the knowledge and memories of Headmaster Limebert in this portrait, and any other family portraits, died with Geoffrey.’

‘What about Muggleborns?’ Hermione asked. ‘Surely there’s a Muggleborn with a portrait.’

‘I don’t know much more about it,’ Draco confessed. ‘But this is just one example of what can happen. In all those Muggle art museums you keep talking about, I would bet my last Galleon there’s at least a few portraits who are lost wizard portraits.’

Harry paled. ‘That’s horrible.’ Pansy nodded grimly. 

His expression turned contemplative. ‘Do you think my parents have portraits?’

‘I don’t see why your father wouldn’t at least,’ Pansy said. ‘If anywhere, it would be at Claymer Park, your family home.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Gloucester,’ said Hermione. Pansy and Draco looked at her in surprise. ‘What? I did some research.’

Draco coughed. ‘Right. Shall we go?’

Hermione looked at Headmaster Limebert’s portrait, wondering what he was thinking in his final, final moments. There was still a lot about magic that Hermione didn’t understand. Family magic seemed a worthwhile topic to explore, especially if she was going to be hanging around with three modern magical nobles. The question of what Harry was worried about loomed over her.

As they studied, Hermione could hear the three Slytherins squabbling, but couldn’t make out what about. It must’ve been about her. A day ago, she had to be under the cloak because they couldn’t bear someone seeing her. Well, Draco and Pansy couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. Hermione had told them as much. 

Hermione shot up, her face red. ‘I’ll just leave, then. Save you all some peace of mind.’

‘What? Wait, Hermione, it’s not that!’

‘What is it, then?’

‘We were… Draco was arguing whether or not we should let you in on our project.’

‘It really isn’t any of her business, is it?’ Draco said, crossing his arms. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

‘Yeah, it is, Draco. The troll nearly- Look, if you’ll just wait a moment we’ll explain everything.’

Hermione looked cautiously around, but sat back down. Then they told her. Harry was worried because he suspected that Professor Quirrell had let the troll in, which answered one of her questions. Hermione had protested that of course Professor Quirrell hadn’t let a troll in. He was a teacher after all. Then they told her their evidence. It was a wild tale, of little packages and frightening three-headed dogs. Hermione could hardly believe it, but Harry looked so earnest, so convinced that it was all true. It was almost enough for her to believe it. 

Hermione huffed. ‘I just don’t know. It all seems very hare-brained.’

‘It is hare-brained!’ Draco exclaimed. ‘That’s why we need good, solid _evidence_. We need to figure out what the object is so we can figure out why Quirrell is trying to steal it! Obviously, it’s something worth stealing.’

‘So you want me to find out for you three?’ asked Hermione. She was getting rather tired of being asked to do research for people. 

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘We want you to  _ help us _ find out what it is.’

‘You were the one nearly killed by Quirrell’s diversion,’ Pansy reminded her. ‘Surely you’d want to give a little back? Find out why Quirrell let the troll in?’

Hermione huffed. ‘Fine. I’ll help. But it’s a waste of time. Quirrell told the parents that the troll was looking for food. Dumbledore said the troll was let in by accident. The corridor is closed for renovations-’

‘She wants to see the dog, doesn’t she?’ Draco tittered.

‘I do not!’ Hermione said hotly. ‘I just don’t want any of you to get your hopes up that we’ll find anything.’

Harry smiled. ‘Thanks, Hermione.’

‘What’s the current issue?’ she said. 

‘The Bludger,' Harry replied. 'Do you remember what I said that Nott couldn’t have bewitched it? I was right. You’d need to be a very powerful and experienced wizard to do it.’

‘That’s why we don’t think it’s related,’ Draco said. ‘There’s no way Quirrell has access to that kind of power.’

‘I think it’s sort of fishy though that just as we’re trying to get close to catching Quirrell, that a bludger nearly kills us all,’ said Pansy wryly.

‘We can’t know for certain that it was him,' Draco said, 'The spell didn’t leave a trace, according to Dumbledore.’

‘What else?’ asked Hermione. 

‘I’m also convinced Quirrell couldn’t have gotten into Gringotts,’ Draco said. ‘There’s no way. He has to be working for someone. Someone dark and powerful.’

‘I think you’re discounting Quirrell’s abilities too much,’ said Hermione.

‘I doubt it.’

‘There could’ve been a group of them,’ offered Harry. Just then, a school owl landed next to Harry. He took the letter tied with twine and it flew away again. He opened it. ‘Hagrid wants us to come by today if we can.’  He explained to Hermione that he was friends with the gamekeeper. He asked if she wanted to come, and she agreed to. Pansy and Draco seemed a bit more hesitant, so Harry let the matter drop. Harry and Hermione walked down to Hagrid’s hut, where the giant was waiting outside.

‘C’mon in!’ he said. ‘See you’ve made another friend, too. What’s yer name?’

She smiled, a little forced. She was intimidated by the man's height, even if he was apparently very friendly. ‘Hermione Granger, sir.’

‘Ah yeah, I recognise yeh now,' he said. 'Yer alrigh’ after the troll, I hope?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Hermione said. ‘Harry did help tremendously.’ Harry blushed. 

‘Good to hear. And none of tha’ sir business,' he said with a hint of sternness. 'I’m no professor.’  Hagrid shook her hand and they came inside. Hermione looked around and sat next to Harry. Hagrid gave them each a flower-pot sized cup of tea and what looked to be raspberry scones. 

‘These are a new recipe,' Hagrid explained to Harry. 'Professor Sprout lent me hers. I suspect these’ll be far less crunchy fer yeh.’

Harry looked at his scone carefully and bit in. Harry had explained Hagrid hadn't been the best cook in the past. When it didn’t explode, Hermione was surprised. In fact, he _enjoyed_ it and gave Hagrid a thumbs up with his free hand. 

Hagrid beamed, pleased that Harry found them good. ‘Figured if I had th’ company, might as well put in the extra effort. Migh’ even try bath cakes again.’

Harry swallowed. ‘Vincent and Greg love your baking, you know.’

‘I know. ‘S why I want ter make ‘em special,’ Hagrid said. He coughed. ‘So, just wanted ter see how yeh held up in the duel.’

‘How did you know about that?’ asked Harry.

‘Oh, Professor Dumbledore mentioned it,' Hagrid said. 'Had ter help Filch clear the dungbombs, I did. Nasty things.’

‘I was fine-’

‘He was brilliant,’ Hermione countered. She told Hagrid all about what had happened. Hagrid chuckled quietly. 

‘Now that’s jus’ the sort of thing yer mum woulda done. She had a keen head on her shoulders.’

Harry smiled.

‘Sir, are you sure there was nothing else about the troll?’

‘I told yeh- none of tha’ sir business. An’ no. The troll band nearby had nothin’ ter say. Nearly knocked me head off fer askin’.’

‘We think it was let in as a distraction, Hagrid,’ Harry said. He told Hagrid most of the story, leaving out who they thought was behind it.

‘How'd yeh know about Fluffy?’ asked Hagrid. 

‘Fluffy?’ asked Hermione. 

‘Yeah – he’s mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –’ 

‘Yes?’ said Harry eagerly. 

‘Now, don’t ask me any more,’ said Hagrid gruffly. ‘That’s top secret, that is.’ 

‘But Quirrell’s trying to steal it.’ 

‘Rubbish,’ said Hagrid again. ‘Quirrell’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.’

‘So why would he let a troll into the school?’ cried Harry.

‘I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!’ said Hagrid hotly. ‘ Now, listen to me, the both of yeh – yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel –’ 

‘Aha!’ said Harry. ‘So there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?’ 

Hagrid looked furious with himself.  ‘I told yeh-’

‘Sorry, Hagrid. We’re just curious.’

‘Too curious fer yer own good, I’d say. Just like yer dad, I s’pose,’ Hagrid said. ‘Sorry ter get fussy with yeh. I just don’ wan’ yeh gettin’ in trouble up at the school.’

‘It’s no trouble,' Harry said. He signaled to Hermione that they ought to go, looking at his watch a moment later. 'I guess we should be going anyway. It was nice to see you.’

‘Yeah, alright. An’ remember what I told yeh.’

‘Don’t tell anyone. And don’t go looking for it.’

Hagrid nodded. Hermione thought that it was very unlikely Harry was going to keep his word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Harry! Yay Hermione! Yay Hagrid!  
> Anything you recognize is from canon. There is a line from The Fellowship of the Ring (2001). Can you find it?
> 
> I feel like this chapter is a little scant in places myself and I will continue to work on it. As I mentioned before, I am continuing to revise this fic, providing more description, editing, and stamping out plot holds as I find them. This won't interfere with the one-a-week upload schedule, but may be a little confusing for repeat readers. 
> 
> Only four weeks to go. I am going to be writing the next book during November and through December, so you may not see Book 2 until the new year. That being said, we still have some good chapters ahead of us!


	15. A Soiree at the Manor

Harry had been partnered with Neville at Madam Hooch’s insistence since the first flying lesson. The Gryffindors had hemmed and hawed and some of the Slytherins looked scandalised, but there was nothing else to be done. The last lesson in December, the last before exams, were reserved for an obstacle course designed by Madam Hooch. Each person would have thirty minutes to get through it and pass the class. 

There were large columns with a twist around them indicating that you had to fly upwards, then downwards in a corkscrew pattern. Bewitched stuffed animals flew around rings of varying sizes, recreating the very real possibility of there being more than a single flier in the sky. Beyond that was a wind tunnel, where you have to stay on your broom while big puffs of air are conjured against you. After that, it was cocoa and biscuits on the ground and a jolly-well-done from Madam Hooch and her helpers. 

Neville was  _ not  _ excited.

‘I am going to fail, Harry,’ he moaned. ‘I’m so sorry for taking up your time, when you could be flying around and-’

‘Stop that,’ Harry said. ‘You’re gonna be fine, Neville. It’s just a silly obstacle course. So long as you do what we’ve practised, you’re going to be excellent. Look at it - we’ve done all these exercises before. Remember me throwing the bean bags at you?’

‘Yeah. I remember falling. Again.’

‘Not that time,’ said Harry rather quickly. 

‘It’s alright Harry,’ Neville said. He took a few deep breaths and repeated his mantra, “I can do it.”

Neville closed his eyes and mounted his broom. Harry watched as Neville unsteadily kicked off from the ground and rose up around the corkscrew column. Ever so slowly, Neville dipped his broomstick slightly and came back to the ground. It was agonising to watch, but Harry felt a swell of pride that Neville had done it again, and again, before he was allowed to move on. 

The stuffed bear around the first and largest ring nearly did him in, but Neville soldiered on. 

He made it through the first ring, then the second. A stuffed owl walloped him, and his wand fell to the ground.

‘Keep going!’ Harry shouted. 

Neville gave a shaky thumbs-up and kept on. He twisted through a larger ring, made an inelegant dive to reach the third, and kept on. Harry liked Neville, but wouldn’t feel ashamed to think that he was a  _ very  _ bad flier. He wondered vaguely if Hermione had had this much trouble. 

Then came the worst part - the wind tunnel. The older students conjured puffs of air ranging from gale-force to summer-day while one made their way through. Neville’s broom bucked and swayed, its rider looking green and out of it. 

At long last, he touched down. 

As everyone had gone before, they were too engrossed in their biscuits and cocoa to pay Neville much mind. Madam Hooch came over and congratulated Neville. The boy beamed as he was handed his certificate. Harry rushed over and gave Neville a high-five.

‘I thought I was done for, but it was fine!’

‘And you’ll never have to do it again if you don’t want to,’ Harry assured him. Neville looked relieved.

‘Let’s go find my wand,’ Neville said. He squinted and began walking. Harry followed, looking around where Neville dropped it. As Neville came closer to Harry, they both heard a singular crack. Neville paled. 

Harry rushed over to see Neville’s wand snapped in two. Neville’s foot hung over it. He looked like he was going to come undone. He was shaking, began to take really quick, shallow breaths, and sunk to his knees. 

Harry came to one side of Neville, not really sure what to do. He improvised. He wrapped an arm around Neville.

‘Don’t look at it, look away. Look anywhere. You’re going to be fine, Neville. You can get through it.’

Neville just stared ahead, glassy-eyed, at the wand. He was shaking out of his skin. He couldn’t speak. Harry was really very concerned.

‘Neville, please, you’re scaring me,’ Harry said. ‘Just close your eyes. Breathe.’

Harry noticed Madam Hooch was corralling the other students for something unrelated. Perhaps she’d noticed that Neville had finished the course. Harry didn’t want anyone to see Neville like this. He’d heard McLaggen had enough fun at Neville’s expense already - McGonagall’s detentions be damned. Harry hooked his arm underneath Neville’s and heaved him to his feet - tried to, anyway. The boy was heavier than Harry was. 

Harry looked around. He took out his wand and muttered a quick  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ . Neville began to rise slowly. Harry scooped up Neville’s broken wand and conducted Neville towards the Hospital Wing without any thought of Flying. 

By the time he reached the door to the school, Harry’s spell failed and he was exhausted. Neville wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. In fact, he seemed to have passed out. Harry saw Gemma Farley walking by with a couple of her friends.

‘Hey, Farley!’ shouted Harry. The prefect turned around. 

‘What?’

‘Get Pomfrey. Now,’ Harry said. Farley looked at Neville and at Harry and ran back off to get help.

Madam Pomfrey, bless her soul, conjured a stretcher and took both Harry and Neville to the Hospital Wing. Harry relaxed into the stretcher but didn’t give in to his want of sleep. He had to answer Madam Pomfrey’s questions about what happened.

‘Quick thinking, Mr Potter,’ Madam Pomfrey said as she came nearer his stretcher.. ‘And how did you manage to get him all this way?’

‘I used a levitation charm,’ said Harry. It seemed like the thing to do since Neville couldn’t walk on his own. 

‘Really?’ she said. ‘Most extraordinary.’

‘Impossible,’ Farley said. ‘There’s no way that you sustained a levitation charm over that distance.’

‘I did,’ Harry said. Pomfrey shooed the Slytherin prefect away. Harry rattled off what happened to Madam Pomfrey and gave her Neville’s broken wand. 

‘Mr Potter, you need to rest,’ said Madam Pomfrey, ‘You are magically, and probably physically and emotionally exhausted. You’ve done wonderfully.’

‘What about Neville?’

‘I’m sure I can take care of Mr Longbottom.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you, Mr Potter. It’s privileged information.’

‘Oh, well will he be alright?’

‘With time and a little rest, yes. I suspect his father’s wand breaking was- well it wasn’t good. Rest now.’

Harry took a look at Neville who was rolling around in his bed. He didn’t like the sound of whatever Neville had. Harry sagged into his pillows and was out before he knew it. 

When he woke up, Professor Dumbledore was sitting between their two beds, talking quietly with Neville.

‘Ah good, Mr Potter, you are awake at last,’ said Professor Dumbledore. He was smiling softly. 

‘I’m not in trouble, am I?’

‘No, you are not in trouble,’ Dumbledore chuckled. ‘In fact, you ought to be proud of yourself. Not many people can lift a human-sized object for very long, much less fifty yards.’

‘Fifty yards?’ gasped Neville. He looked at Harry like he had sprouted an extra ear. 

Dumbledore nodded his head. ‘Indeed. Ten points to Slytherin for most commendable charmwork. I suspect that your Charms practical will result in an Outstanding.’

Harry blushed slightly. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Mr Longbottom, I will inform your professors of your situation. You’ll be taken tomorrow to Ollivander’s. Your practical exams, for the time being, are cancelled.’

‘Thank you, Professor,’ mumbled Neville. 

Dumbledore smiled. ‘A good and restful evening to you, gentlemen.’ The old wizard got up from his chair and made it disappear. 

‘Thank you, sir,’ Harry said. ‘Good night.’ Dumbledore gave them a small wave and left the wing. 

Harry leaned back to look at Neville. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Harry,’ Neville smiled briefly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘They’ve never been so bad before. Usually I’m alone when they happen.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s - well Madam Pomfrey called it anxiety,’ Neville said. He scratched the back of his neck. ‘I’ve had it… well, I don’t know when it started really. And I guess dad’s wand, well…’

‘Try not to think about it too much.’

‘It’s all I can think about,’ Neville cried. ‘My dad was a war hero and I… I know what you’re thinking. It’s alright, I guess.’ His expression made it seem that it  _ wasn’t  _ alright. 

‘I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor. Look at me, I was scared of an obstacle course. You’re nice, but the other Slytherins…’

‘Who’s making fun of you?’

‘I don’t want any trouble, Harry.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Just leave it alone. I know you would do it. Hermione told me, you know, what you did for her. I’m dealing with it’

‘You’re worth twelve of those gits, d’you know that?’

‘I don’t-’

‘You are. I swear you are,’ Harry said. He looked Neville straight into the eye as he said it. ‘Neville, I’m going to tell you something, alright?’ The boy nodded, but looked away from Harry staring at him. 

‘My cousin Dudley, I’m convinced he only beat on me because he was afraid that I’d turn him into a toad or be more liked by his parents, or something. He terrorised me because I had something he didn’t and targeting me made him feel better about himself.’

That’s what Dora had said to him, in effect. Harry agreed with her. 

Neville looked shocked. ‘I never knew that, Harry.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t really like to talk about it. That’s not the point. You are special, Neville. Who’s got the highest mark in Herbology? Who made it through that obstacle course even though he was afraid of it?’

‘Who ran ink down Pansy Parkinson’s uniform and ruined it?’ groaned Neville. 

Harry waved his hand. ‘It’s water under the bridge. She’s forgotten all about it. She’s got like twenty uniforms - sometimes she changes midday.’

Neville laughed. Harry joined in.

‘Thanks, Harry. I mean it. ‘

‘No problem,’ said Harry. The two turned awkwardly away from each other and tried to fall asleep. 

Harry didn’t talk about Dudley, not since that first night, yet here it just felt right to tell Neville about it, to say that he wasn’t alone. Harry wasn’t afraid of him anymore, not after what he’d seen and done this year. Dudley would’ve soiled his knickerbockers if he saw Fluffy. 

Harry had only been released for forty minutes from the Hospital Wing when Draco caught up to him going towards the Great Hall for lunch. 

‘Did you really have to help Longbottom, of all people?’ asked Draco. 

‘I had a very good reason.’

‘What’s that?’

Harry paused, looking at Draco .’Y’know even if you talk all the time about friendship, I still don’t think you know what it really means sometimes.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Draco seemed outraged. 

‘Neville’s my friend, Draco,’ Harry reminded him. ‘I helped him because that’s what friends do.’

‘Here’s what I’ll do, Harry,’ Draco said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you what you need to hear. Neville is a Gryffindor!’ He shook Harry and twirled around in the air. He was being ridiculous.

Harry shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter to him. You know it doesn’t matter to me.’

‘What about his roommates, hm?’ Draco said. He got closer to Harry and lowered his voice. ‘Or did you forget Longbottom shared a room with four other Gryffindors who would be more than happy to play up the rivalry on his behalf?’

‘I don’t think that’s true either. Other than McLaggen, the other Gryffindors just sort of avoid me.’

Draco huffed and stepped away. ‘What is it that you want from me? Obviously you don’t agree with me about Muggleborns or tradition. Surely there must be a reason that you’re still my friend.’

‘Quit being dramatic,’ Harry sighed. ‘I  _ am  _ your friend, Draco. Doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.’ They began to walk down the stairs of the clocktower. 

‘But  _ why  _ are you my friend?’ wheedled Draco. 

‘Because I think you’re decent,’ Harry said. ‘When you’re not being a prat to my other friends, you’re even pleasant.’

‘Decent?  _ Decent? _ ’ Draco seethed. ‘I’m well on my way to becoming a first-rate wizard and you rank me as only “decent”?’

Harry looked at him. He was being an idiot. ‘Draco, please. You know you’re excellent. You keep reminding everyone every hour of the day.’ Harry had a wry smile on his face. ‘I think you even like Hermione.’

‘I don’t like her,’ Draco said, shaking his head. ‘I tolerate her presence.’

‘It’s alright, you don’t have to admit it,’ Harry said. He opened the door to the next corridor on the landing for Draco, who strode through without a second thought. ‘I told her to give you some time.’

‘I was perfectly civil.’

Harry chuckled. ‘You were not.’

‘Was too,’ 

‘Was not.’

‘Was too!’

Harry huffed. ‘Question is, if this all bothers you so much - and given that I’m a, what was it, a “blood traitor”, why are  _ you  _ still my friend?’’

Draco paused. When a gaggle of Hufflepuffs passed, he continued. ‘You know at this point, I don’t even know.’

God that hurt. What was that twisty feeling?

Harry turned and looked straight at Draco. They had stopped walking. ‘Tell me you don’t mean that. Right now.’

‘I do, I mean - ‘ Draco’s cheeks tinged. ‘Merlin, Pansy was right. I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ asked Harry. Thankfully he didn’t gawp at Draco. That would give him too much ammunition. The look on Draco’s face though made Harry think ammunition was the last thing he was looking for. Did he say - did he just apologise?

‘I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t mean what I said like that. I’m sorry.’

Harry had a radiant grin. ‘One more time.’

‘Come on, Potter,’ Draco whined. ‘I said I’m sorry.’

Harry laughed. Draco joined in nervously. Harry hugged him fiercely. ‘You’re learning!’

‘Potter! Not here.’

Harry let go of Draco. Draco looked around and smoothed out his robes. ‘Yes, I suppose I am, much to my displeasure.’

‘There’s nothing you haven’t learned already,’ noted Harry. 

‘Certainly,’ Draco said. ‘Shall we away for lunch?’

Harry nodded and they walked together. 

Down a different corridor, Harry noticed a door he’d never seen before although he had taken this way to the Great Hall several times by now. He stopped and walked towards it.

‘Now wait, Harry,’ Draco said. ‘Remember the last time you went through a mystery door?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Eh, it was Fluffy, Draco. Harmless little thing, according to Hagrid.’

‘Right, so don’t do it.’

‘Oh c’mon,’ Harry whined. He opened the door. It looked to be an abandoned classroom of sorts. Standing near the wall was a silver mirror held upright by a golden frame. By the looks of it, it had been moved in here after the classroom was abandoned. Why would someone hide a mirror?

‘Should we look?’ asked Harry mildly. 

‘And get our souls sucked out by a mystery mirror? No thank you.’ Draco crossed his arms. 

‘Oh come on, Draco. If the mirror were dangerous, do you really think Dumbledore would have kept the door unlocked?’

‘ _ Fluffy _ .’

‘That door was locked.’

‘Merlin, fine,’ Draco said. He shut the door to the corridor. ‘Go ahead and get your soul sucked out, why don’t you.’

Harry shrugged and went towards the mirror. As he got closer his reflection became more and more clear. His reflection was odd though. He was wearing robes like Draco did in Madam Malkins and was a bit taller. Was he older?

As he stepped right in front of the mirror, it became more clear. 

He saw two figures walking from the sides of the mirror slowly take shape. Harry’s heart stopped. He saw his very same eyes looking back at him from his mother’s face, and his dad’s hair stuck up just as much as Harry’s had in the back. Harry put a hand to the mirror, wondering if he could just reach inside…

His mother’s reflection smiled sadly at him. Harry’s dad put an arm around his reflection’s shoulder. 

Harry understood. It was only an image, a dream as much as those phantom hugs were at the Dursleys for all those years. He looked at the two of them, memorizing every detail. His father’s nose looked broken. His mother had a scar on her left hand. His dad’s glasses were made of gold wire. His mum had a dimple-

But what was this?

A wisp of smoke from behind transformed into a large gathering. Harry recognised Draco, who seemed to be wearing his hair longer and in a ponytail. His parents stepped aside, and Draco stepped forward to join them. He gave a little smirk and waved at Harry. The Tonkses and Pansy soon joined them, so did Hermione and Neville. Harry could see Vincent and Greg trying to fit themselves into the image.

‘Harry, are you alright?’ Draco called.

Harry wiped away at a tear. ‘F-fine.’

Harry heard Draco come towards the mirror. Harry hid his face. ‘What happened?’

‘Can’t you see it?’ Harry said. He waved towards the mirror. ‘Look, just there.’

Draco shook his head. ‘I only see us.’

Harry stood up and walked towards one of the old desks away from the mirror. ‘Stand where I was standing. You’ll see them too.’

Draco stepped front and centre. Harry noticed his eyes widened.

‘There!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘You see them, right? We’re older, and my parents-’

‘Harry, I don’t see your parents,’ Draco interrupted. ‘I think… Does this mirror show the future?’

‘How can it? My parents are dead,’ Harry said. Just saying that, seeing what he’d seen, made his heart ache. 

Draco took another step forward. He blushed and turned away from it.

‘What did you see?’

‘I think we should go,’ said Draco quietly. Harry furrowed his brow. 

‘Are you alright?’

‘Fine,’ Draco snapped. ‘We should’ve left this mirror well alone.’

He stormed out of the room. Harry followed him. His eyes lingered on the mirror as he closed the door. What had Draco seen?

They walked in silence until they reached their usual spot. 

‘Harry, would you want to come to the Manor for Christmas?’ Draco asked suddenly. ‘It’s such a great opportunity for you to learn wizarding customs. I could convince Father to let us go to Stānhencg. Would you want to?’

‘Sorry… what?’ asked Harry. He didn’t know what “Stan Hanky” was exactly. Probably some wizard festival.

‘It’s a standing stone circle. Powerful magic gathers there. Father calls it one of the most-’

‘Oh  _ Stonehenge _ , yes.’

‘So you do want to see it?’

‘Well, er. I’m not sure if I can come for Christmas. I kind of made plans with the Tonkses.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. It’s only three days, surely.’

‘Draco, they took me in,’ Harry said firmly. ‘I’ve got to be there.’

Draco nodded rather sullenly. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I could ask to come for New Years for a few hours,’ offered Harry.

Draco looked up, his eyes widened. ‘How did you know about the soiree?’

‘Soiree?’

‘My mother’s New Year’s Soiree. Surely- Oh, you didn’t.’

‘No, I didn’t. Er, I’ve never been to a soiree before.’ 

They were suddenly interrupted by Pansy. 

‘Well hello, you two!’ she said with a smile. ‘Vincent and Greg already ate. Where have you been?’

‘Er, walking,’ said Harry weakly.

‘Right,’ Pansy drawled. ‘Anyway. I just heard a lovely rumour about Professor Sinistra-’

‘Pansy,’ Harry said. He didn’t like rumours as much as she did. Pansy sat across from them. 

‘Sorry, right. What are we talking about?’

‘Draco’s mother’s soiree.’

‘Oh, what an occasion,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Tell me you’ll be there.’

‘See?’ Draco said, giving him a nudge. ‘You’ll break Pansy’s heart if you don’t go now, Harry.’

‘I don’t have anything to wear.’

Draco laughed at him. ‘Oh, a good joke, Harry, truly.’

‘I don’t see how that’s a joke,’ said Harry tersely.

Pansy shook her head. ‘They have your measurements at Malkin’s. You can order robes from there any time.’

‘Oh,’ said Harry rather dumbly. They chuckled briefly at his expense.

‘So, will you go?’

‘To a soiree? They’re like balls, right? I don’t know how to dance.’

‘Now you’re just making excuses!’ exclaimed Pansy. An older student turned towards her. She waved apologetically and turned back. 

‘Fine,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll go.’

Draco smirked and Pansy grinned. Harry was going to regret this. 

After their last exam, Harry and his friends (all of them) walked down to Hogsmeade with Hagrid to catch the Floo back to their houses. Neville was telling Harry about his new wand and how he couldn’t wait to test it out over the break. Pansy and Draco talked at him about the colour scheme and ambience of the New Years’ Ball and Hermione interjected every now and then (she was standing next to Neville) with questions about the enchantments and wizarding fashion. 

It was wonderful what a little time could do and had done for their little group. It seemed Pansy at least tolerated Hermione’s presence. She wasn’t pleased at all that Nott’s satisfaction came in a written apology to Hermione sneakily given to her at breakfast the morning after. Hermione apparently had shown it to a few other people at her study group, other junior aristocrats in Hufflepuff and hung it on her dorm wall for all to see. She wouldn’t admit that it was Draco’s idea to do so by proxy. 

When they reached the free-standing hearth, they parted ways. Hermione and Pansy hugged Harry and Neville waved to him. Draco lingered for a moment. 

‘I know you’re excited to go home. What is it?’

‘Come on,’ Draco said. He looked around 

‘I have a funny feeling about Nicolas Flamel. I think I should ask my mother and father.’

‘What? Why?’

‘If Nicolas Flamel is anyone, my father knows him. If he knows them, he can invite him to the ball.’

‘What? Draco- we don’t want to meet Flamel!’

‘Who better to tell us about his and Dumbledore’s object? Hagrid said-’

‘It’s supposed to be a secret! Do you honestly think he’ll tell us?’

‘It’s worth a spell, don’t you think?’ Draco asked, looking at his nails. 

‘Draco,’ Harry sighed.

‘Don’t complain…’ Draco smirked. ‘I already sent a note off.’

‘ _ Draco! _ ’ Harry cried. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘I knew you’d pitch some sort of fit,’ Draco drawled. ‘Besides, you don’t have to tell him you know about the thing, whatever it is.’

‘Well of course we do-’

Draco gave him a short hug. ‘I’ll see you there, Harry. Don’t be late.’

‘I don’t even know when to go!’

Draco laughed at that. ‘Oh, you will.’

With that, Draco disappeared into the Floo Network. Harry took a few calming breaths before jumping into the Floo himself. He appeared back into the Tonks’ living room. 

The red walls of the living room cast a warm glow. They were lit by fairy lights that stretched across the tops and sides. There was a tree in the corner with a small avalanche of presents underneath it. The tree had been decorated with thin crystal icicles, its boughs laden with silvery tinsel and red baubles as well. It was a sharp contrast from the Dursley’s tree, which had been filled with Dudley’s art projects. This one even looked real. 

‘Harry!’ Ted said. ‘Welcome back, son!’

Harry smiled and hugged both Andromeda and Ted. It was good to see them again. 

‘Come on in. Are you hungry? I hope you are. Andy made a splendiferous feast once again-’

‘Ted please, he just got back.’

‘Oh no, that’s fine,’ Harry said. His eyes lingered on the Christmas tree. ‘On second thought, maybe I should lie down for a bit.’

‘Do you have a fever?’ Andromeda asked. She came towards Harry with her wand, but he waved her off.

‘Nah. I’ll tell you in a bit,’ Harry said with the most forced smile he’d had since Aunt Marge had made him pose next to her the last time she visited. 

‘Alright, Harry. You know where we’ll be.’

Harry nodded and bounded up the stairs. Dora didn’t seem to be there, so she must still have been deep in Auror training. The last note she had sent Harry was before exams, wishing him luck. She gushed and gushed about one of her trainers in particular, Mad-Eye Moody. Harry had kept the letters from Draco because he knew now that several of his classmates’ parents had been taken in by the veteran Auror and he didn’t trust Draco to not tell Pansy, who would tell everyone. 

The Tonkses didn’t know about his scar or about his suspicions around Quirrell. He supposed he could’ve asked Andromeda about the scar, but he didn’t want her to worry. Harry opened the door to his room and saw it exactly as he had left it. Hedwig opened an eye and winked at Harry from her perch, closing her eye again to rest. 

He should feel happy to be back at the Tonkses. He was, really. Yet this was also the first Christmas he’d had away from the Dursleys. It took him until he saw their tree to fully realise that. 

He looked back at his Doctor Duck pajamas and bedspread. It had been so long since he’d even seen a television he had hardly realised how much he loved that programme before he went to Hogwarts, before he met McGonagall in the garden. 

‘Wotcher, Harry!’ Dora said, scaring Harry once again half to death.

‘Hey, Dora,’ Harry said weakly. ‘You scared me.’

‘Sorry, I just got back,’ Dora said. ‘Mum said you were up here and Dad said you were being mopey.’

‘Did he really?’

‘Was I right?’ Dora said with a smirk. 

‘He didn’t say that?’ 

Dora laughed. ‘Nah, Dad’s not the type to get into your business. Unfortunately for you,’ she stepped forward and closed the door. ‘I am. So what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘I haven’t thought about the Dursleys really in a while, but coming closer to now it feels like a lifetime ago and yet no time at all, y’know?’

Dora frowned. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I didn’t want you all to worry. I’m dealing with it.’

‘Harry,’ Dora said with a small smile. She sunk into Harry’s desk chair. ‘Y’know Mum asked me every day if I got anything more from you than you wrote to them.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said. His heart sank. He didn’t want that at all. 

‘I didn’t say that to make you feel even worse - believe me,’ Dora said quickly. ‘Only to say that Mum worries about you loads already.’

‘I do feel worse, actually.’

‘Sorry,’ Dora said sheepishly. Her pink hair tinged violet. ‘D’you know what I think would help? Getting rid of these.’ She pointed to his bed. ‘I think they’re not helping.’

‘My Doctor Duck bedding? Why?’

Dora shrugged. ‘Just a feeling. My Granna Tonks used to sleep here close to the end. They left the door here closed for weeks until finally Dad spent hours going through her stuff, packed what he wanted, and put it in the attic. By the end of it, he was… well, he wasn’t all fine, but he was better. I think that’s what you need.’

‘To put my things in the attic?’

‘No, silly. Dad pulls out his mum’s stuff when he misses her, but he’s not constantly looking at it. Maybe you need something like that. I don’t know what it’s called.’

‘Alright, I’ll try it,’ said Harry. 

They took off his bedding. Harry folded it methodically, watching as the ducks were folded into an unrecognisable pleat. Dora told him she’d be downstairs and closed the door behind him. He placed his old bedding at the bottom of one of his drawers. He looked at it sadly before closing the door. 

Dora was right though. He did feel better once he smoothed mulberry coloured sheets over his bed. 

This wasn’t Privet Drive, this was a life all his own. 

On Christmas Day, Harry woke up to a loud, ringing bell. He groaned and turned over, grabbing for his glasses. He heard Dora shouting and cursing in her room across the hall and a crash. She must have run into her drum set again. 

The two of them shuffled down the stairs. He may be a morning person, but he was never fond of the bells in the Slytherin dorm. They stopped and sat down next to each other on the couch. Andromeda and Ted smiled at them. 

‘Shall we?’ Ted said. He handed Andromeda her first box. She opened it to a little enchanted angel that fluttered around. She smiled and hugged Ted. 

‘Harry next. This is from Hagrid, I think…’

Harry opened his presents. He got  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ by Newton Scamander from Hagrid, a Whee-lo, journal and a jumbo-sized box of Chocolate Frogs from the Tonkses, a book of hexes from Dora, a variety pack of cauldron cakes from Goyle, a book about the Druids from Hermione, a bewitched drawing of a unicorn and treacle tart from Crabbe, and a pen-knife wrapped in snakeskin and a large bottle of mango nectar from Pansy.

His last gift was a very large book with a dark green cover and a brass clasp decorated with his family crest. It was quite heavy. 

‘What’s this?’ Andromeda asked. Harry handed over the book and she opened it, her eyes widening. ‘Oh, this is - who sent you this?’

‘No idea. What is it?’

‘It looks like your family history,’ said Ted. He handed it over to Harry. 

The pages were made of heavy white parchment. Harry traced his hand around the raised gold borders, watching as it twirled and twisted like a fire. The first page had a very large family tree with hundreds of orderly boughs that faded as it came closer to the top or sides of the book. 

Harry traced one limb to the root and accidentally trailed over a small image. The pages spun away and flipped to a portrait of one of Harry’s ancestors. Darkened gold ink told his story, of how he died at the age of 103 from dragon pox, and how he participated in the Second Crusade in his youth. 

‘Wicked,’ said Harry. 

He was a little sad that Draco hadn’t sent him anything. Harry had sent on a few presents of his own after Andromeda told him to, including a pocket mirror and a box of chocolates for Draco. He was far too excited at the moment by the book at the moment to write Draco a letter. 

The day after, Harry sent off his order form for robes. He’d had Andromeda help him pick them out. He wasn’t really looking forward to going to the ball but he promised Draco he’d be there for him. 

Harry Apparated with Andromeda to the Manor. She froze as soon as she saw the gates. Harry watched as her indescribable look transformed into a mask of indifference.

‘I’ll take you past the gates but no further,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling I’m not welcome here.’

‘Really, I can tell Draco I don’t want to stay long.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. I don’t want you to miss this opportunity to be with your friends.’

‘Alright, I’ve got it. You can…’ Harry said. ‘Well, if you want to.’

Andromeda smiled in understanding. ‘You sure you’ll be alright?’

‘Oh yeah, I’ll be tip-top,’ Harry chuckled. ‘It’s just a party. I’ll take the Floo back.’

Andromeda looked at him fondly. ‘Very well. Be safe and don’t wander.’

She hugged Harry carefully and gestured him toward the gates. 

The gates were very large, grander than even two Hagrids would be side to side, and made of wrought iron. As he walked towards them, he could begin to hear the sounds of the soiree, of laughter and music. A hedgerow flanked either side of the gate. The Manor beyond was vast and made of dark stone that was well-lit by twirling fairy lights that might actually be fairies. The path towards the house was illuminated by six large braziers of silver-coloured fire. 

Harry turned around as he reached the gate, and Andromeda gave him a small parting wave. As he turned back around, he heard the sharp crack of Apparition. The comfortable dress robes he was wearing suddenly felt like a prison. This was not going to be fun. 

He walked towards the gates, which dissolved as he did so. He looked around a bit before he went inside. He stopped and took it all in.

The house looked even more massive on the inside. Witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes were schmoozing in the long marble corridors, wearing what amounted to white-tie. Peals of laughter and steady flows of conversation rang out over an orchestra. Harry had never seen so many formal-looking people all at once. As he stood in the entranceway, he felt a pair of hands unclasp his cloak from his shoulders. He looked down to see Norry smiling up at him.

‘Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Harry Potter,’ she said. Harry bowed and she bowed back after a short moment. 

Harry walked forward at Norry’s urging. He was glad to see that no one had noticed his arrival quite yet. The corridor gave way into a large entrance hall with two grand staircases leading up to the second floor roped off with white velvet ropes. Lush strands of poison-green garland wrapped around the columns and bannisters. A crystal chandelier illuminated the entire space in dappled points of light. 

To either side of the entrance hall were gargantuan rooms, one of which contained a vast pyramid of crystal glasses being poured into consistently by impossibly large bottles of champagne that would have made Aunt Petunia jealous beyond all reason. The other was a ballroom where couples spun each other around in an elaborate dance, the silver twinkle of a particular woman’s dress caught Harry’s eye before he shut them.

Harry felt queasy. He felt lost. He knew he was right not to ask Andromeda to come inside with him, but it really was a lot of people around. He opened his eyes and walked into the room with the glasses of champagne. 

He bobbed and weaved through the crowd until he came to a side table made of a dark wood with a marble slab stretched over the top. He saw all manner of delicacies ranging from the obviously sweet to the small and savoury. The trouble was, he didn’t recognise a thing here. In front of him there was something that looked vaguely like lamb chops, so he reached for the serving fork-

‘Sir, if I may,’ a house elf said, suddenly appearing to Harry’s left. Harry nodded. The house elf put one on a plate and continued to do so.

‘Er.. stop please,’ Harry said. The house elf stilled the fork and bowed, disappearing with a shimmer. Harry looked down and saw that there was far too much of whatever this was for him to eat without ruining his overrobe. 

He walked to the outskirts of the din and sat at a small table that seemed unoccupied. He noticed a few eyes on him, but no takers. With any luck Harry could eat his whatever-this-was and slip out the back before anyone noticed he was even there. Then again, he didn’t know exactly where the Malfoys kept their Floo fireplace in this behemoth of a house. 

He was going to die in this ballroom, he just knew it. 

At least whatever this was was heavenly. It wasn’t lamb, but it didn’t exactly taste like beef or pork either. The sauce was great though. He unfurled a dragon-shaped napkin and placed it in his lap. 

‘Would Sir like some champagne?’ the same house elf as before said as he appeared next to Harry.

‘Er, no thank you.’

‘Gillywater, perhaps?’

Harry smiled and nodded. The house elf gave him another bow and reappeared with a tumbler and a large bottle of what looked to be mineral water. 

‘There’s no alcohol in this, right?’ Harry asked before the elf disappeared.

‘Why, no sir,’ he said. ‘I had forgotten Mistress Narcissa forbade me from giving minors alcohol. Why it was traditional-’

‘Sorio,’ a voice drawled. ‘I believe a guest is choking on a fishbone.’

Harry turned around and saw Draco wearing black and silver like Harry. Sorio the Elf bowed and disappeared. Harry’s face broke out into a grin. 

‘Draco!’ Harry exclaimed. He was more glad to see Draco here than of anything else in his life up to that point. He rushed up to hug him but was stopped by Draco’s firm grip. 

‘It’s Malfoy here, Potter,’ Draco sneered, but he smiled and placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

‘Oh right.’

‘How rude of me- I didn’t think you were coming,’ Draco said. ‘Might I sit down?’

‘Of course,’ Harry snorted. Draco sat elegantly in the chair across from Harry. This  _ was  _ his house. ‘And of course I was going to come. What gave you the idea I’d miss out on…’ He looked at his plate. ‘What is this?’

‘Hippocamp,’ supplied Draco.

‘What?’

‘Oh, it’s a sea creature found in the Aegean,’ Draco said idly. ‘Wizards have been eating them for centuries. It’s half horse, half fish. You have good taste, for someone so ignorant.’

Harry’s mouth went dry and he ignored Draco’s barb. ‘I ate a magic horse.’

‘With aplomb,’ Draco said with a smirk. Harry noticed how Draco’s eyes matched his vest and the trim around his cuffs. Harry felt the urge to look away. 

‘It was the only thing I could think to do,’ Harry said weakly. He didn’t want Draco to ridicule him. He really did hate parties. Often he stayed up in his room if it could be helped when the Dursleys were having people over. Now that he was here, in this absolute nightmare of a place.

‘Well don’t stop now on my account,’ Draco said, his smirk widening into a smile, ‘I need to find someone for you to meet. Will you stay here?’

‘Where else would I be?’ Harry said morosely. He grabbed Draco’s sleeve as he walked past. ‘Oh Draco, please don’t leave me here.’

‘Oh don’t be such a baby,’ Draco said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Harry made a distressed noise as he watched Draco fade into the crowd. Harry felt like a baby in the wilderness. Harry turned back to his hippocamp chops and did feel genuinely queasy. He liked horses. Dudley had been bitten by a Shetland pony at a petting zoo once. 

Harry sipped his Gillywater.The water tasted like cucumbers, but more bitter. He continued to look around. It had begun to snow lightly outside, so waves of people were coming in, laughing and obviously rip-roaring drunk as well. Harry saw some of the older Slytherins milling about, even a few Ravenclaws. He stayed firmly rooted at his table and wished beyond wishes that he had brought his dad’s invisibility cloak. 

When Draco returned, he was guiding two older warlocks towards Harry. One wore a simple dress made out of silver fabric, her hair done in a long silver plait and decorated with a sprig of holly. Her companion wore dark red with intricate silver details that seemed to shift like honey dripping up and down as he walked towards Harry. 

‘Potter, might I introduce Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, alchemists,’ Draco said, looking very proud of himself. Harry glared at him but smiled beatifically at Draco’s guests. They exchanged bows.

‘Might we sit with you, Mr Potter?’ they asked. 

‘Be my guest, er-’

Draco patted his shoulder and sat next to Harry, the Flamels sitting across from them.

‘As we have heard it, this is your first wizarding party,’ Nicolas said. ‘Does it live up to your expectations?’

‘It’s a fair bit larger than any one I’ve been to,’ Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes and began to speak.

‘I take it you do not enjoy such parties?’ asked Perenelle.

‘I came here because Draco asked me to,’ said Harry.

Perenelle shared a look with her husband. ‘Aucun d'eux ne sait jusqu'où cela ira, penses-tu?’ 

‘Peri, ne fais pas ça, s'il te plaît-’ Nicolas said quickly.He turned to them with a dazzling smile. ‘Forgive us. It has been many years since we have been around the English. How long would you say, mon coeur?’

‘Eighty-two years, I believe,’ said Perenelle. Harry’s eyes bugged out. The two of them didn’t look a day over forty except for their hair, Harry thought. 

‘Surprised?’ Nicolas said. ‘Mister Malfoy implied you were familiar with our work. No doubt it was through Albus’ chocolate frog card?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, ‘I think that’s where I first heard of you.’

‘One would hope we’d be recognised for something more substantial, don’t you think?’ asked Perenelle.

‘I… er,’ said Harry intelligently. His palms were getting very sweaty. Draco looked white as a sheet. 

‘Do not be afraid of us,’ Nicolas said calmly. ‘We are simply curious.’

‘Might as well get it out, Potter,’ murmured Draco. Nicolas twirled a very old looking wand and a dome of purple light swirled around the entire table.

‘There we are - it is a privacy charm, Mister Potter. Whatever you say, only we can hear.’

Harry hesitated. This is exactly what he didn’t want. He bit the bullet and told them everything from the beginning: how someone broke into Gringotts, how suspicious Quirrell was being, how he’d set the troll as a diversion, even how his scar hurt around him. At the end, he felt a tremendous sense of relief that at last he’d told someone. 

‘Why did you not tell anyone?’

‘Who would’ve believed me?’

‘True enough,’ Nicolas said. ‘Then why do you feel this burden to find the thief?’

Harry thought about it. He supposed he never took the time to really ask himself why he was doing any of this. After all, there were dozens of capable warlocks at Hogwarts. And yet...

‘Sometimes I feel like it’s what I should be doing - solving problems,’ Harry said. ‘It’s what people expect me to do; I should do something and be great at it. I want to be worthy, I guess, of what my parents did for me.’

Perenelle smiled. ‘You know, you remind me of Albus when he was young. Well,  _ younger _ , I suppose.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, but it is not our story to tell you,’ Nicolas said, ‘In any case, we can grant you some piece of mind:

‘The object that we had entrusted to Albus was our Philosopher’s Stone.’

Draco gasped. He looked furious with himself. 

‘Are you familiar with such a thing as this, Mr Potter?’ asked Perenelle. 

‘No, not really,’ confessed Harry. 

‘It is the manifold synthesis of a life’s enlightenment, the ultimate and deepest nature of our soul,’ Nicolas said. He smiled wryly. ‘It was terribly tricky. It took us fifty years, I should think.’

‘Er, what does it do?’

‘Harry-’

‘Mister Malfoy, please,’ Nicolas said, raising his hand to quiet Draco. ‘Using the Stone, one can produce a succor that forms the basis of the Elixir of Life. No doubt you can guess what that entails.’

Harry deliberated for a moment, taking in what he knew of the Flamels. Some things didn’t make sense, how they looked so young yet so ancient at the same time. Then it all clicked.

‘Eternal life,’ breathed Harry. 

‘To a point, yes,’ said Nicolas. ‘So long as one drinks the Elixir, they are sustained. This property above all its other myriad properties makes the Stone a worthy prize - and thus also a heavy burden.’

‘Who  _ wouldn’t  _ want to live forever?’ drawled Draco.

‘I believe you would feel differently after your second century, Mister Malfoy,’ Perenelle said without mirth. ‘Everything I have known is naught but ash and rubble, my friends and family consigned to dust. The world moves on, and yet we remain.’

‘Why then?’

‘Why do all people soldier on when they know their days are numbered, Mister Malfoy? Why go on at all when one day you know you will join the earth once again? Do not ask why we linger if you cannot answer for yourself.’

‘Perenelle,’ Nicolas said gently. He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You must pardon us, Mister Malfoy. Even after six hundred years it is a sore subject.’

‘Six hundred?’ gasped Harry. Perenelle nodded. 

‘To answer your inevitable question, Mr Potter, it is because we have yet to unravel one last mystery that I cannot divulge to you. Once we have… well,’ Nicolas paused and put his hand over his wife’s. 

‘I apologise,’ Draco said, bowing his head. ‘I don’t mean to be impertinent, but there is a matter of urgency: do you know anything about why Harry’s scar hurts?’

Harry nearly kicked himself. He completely forgot to ask Snape about the scar when he had the chance. He supposed Draco had seized on the opportunity himself. 

‘We know above all that magic leaves traces,’ Perenelle said. ‘Nicolas was given a long scar on his upper arm by a Florentine in the Wars of Religion. Whenever he went to Florence thereafter, it ached.’

‘More often it is the proximity to the caster than to the origin,’ said Nicolas, looking critically at Harry’s scar. 

‘Merlin!’ Draco exclaimed. ‘Harry! He’s You-Know-Who!’

‘What?’ Perenelle said with a small chuckle. ‘No. Immersed in his magic, or otherwise connected in intent perhaps, but not him. Mister Potter would be in agony if Quirrell was truly Voldemort.’

Draco flinched. 

Harry swallowed. ‘So what should I do?’

‘Remain vigilant,’ Nicolas said, smiling grimly. ‘Do not find yourself alone with Quirrell. If your scar-pains worsens at all, tell Albus.’

Perenelle checked a pocket watch she seemingly pulled from nowhere. ‘With that, I am afraid we must leave you. Good luck, Mister Potter.’

The two ancient warlocks got to their feet. They exchanged light handshakes with Harry and Draco, both flabbergasted.

‘Take care of him, Mister Malfoy,’ said Nicolas with a small smile. ‘Bonne année.’

Draco smiled and watched them leave, he leaned closer to Harry. ‘Is it just me, or were they on a tight schedule?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I’m not complaining.’

Once the Flamels disappeared, Draco sat down. Harry joined. ‘Did you have a good Christmas, Potter?’

Harry’s smile was rather forced now. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘Thank you for the chocolates,’

‘Oh, you’re welcome,’ said Harry idly. 

‘So… did you get anything interesting?’

‘Well Ted got me this fascinating magnetised wheel toy. It goes up and down these two rails but never comes off. Isn’t that great?

‘Anything else?’ asked Draco with a hint of impatience. Clearly he wasn’t interested in Harry’s toy.

Harry paused. ‘Well there was also this really nice book. It didn’t say who it was from.’

‘I gave it to you,’ Draco said quickly.

‘What?’

Draco sighed in frustration. ‘Harry, the book was your Christmas present from me.’

‘Oh… really?’ Harry looked at him and frowned. ‘Draco - you should’ve said something! I would’ve gotten you something more if I knew you-’ Harry was on the verge of tears. He embraced Draco in a fierce hug to stop himself from crying.

‘Potter!’ Draco said, squirming. ‘Potter, stop that!’ 

Harry let go. ‘Sorry, I just really liked it,’ he said. He dabbed at his tears with his napkin which had fallen to the floor. 

‘No need to get all weepy. Good Circe-’

‘I just… sorry. Thank you, Dra - Malfoy.’

‘You really don’t like a bit of this, do you?’ Draco asked, gesturing vaguely. Harry shook his head. ‘It was a stupid idea - Pansy’s, I assure you. I suppose you’re just not cut out for this quite yet.’

‘One day, maybe,’ Harry said. ‘Thanks for the magic horse.’

‘It’s not magic horse, Potter, it's hippocamp!’ shrieked Draco.

Harry laughed. ‘Alright. I think I’ll be going now,’ he said. ‘I have a lot to think about.’

‘At least let me escort you to the Floo,’ Draco said. ‘It’s the polite thing, you know.’

‘Fine, escort me!’ said Harry with a grin. 

The two of them walked through the ballroom. Draco was stopped a few times, but artfully pulled out of the conversations by introducing Harry, who then shook hands once and left. They repeated this particular dance several times. 

At long last they came to a tall door near the grand staircases. Draco grasped both of the brass handles and the ring he wore glowed. The doors swung open and they ducked inside, Draco closing the door behind them. 

Even their Floo chamber was massive. There was one large marble-carved fireplace in the otherwise barren and silent hall. They came to a stop in front of the Floo.

‘I still expect you to stick around next time - Easter, perhaps. My mother and father would be eminently pleased to meet you.’

‘Oh I’m not ready for that. I’ve just learned how to bow properly. The fork things confuses me-’

‘-Alright. Summer then, not Easter.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Harry!’

‘I’m serious,’ Harry said. He hugged Draco. ‘I’ll come.’

Draco parted with a smile and tipped the porcelain vase towards him. ‘Happy New Year, Harry.’

Harry smiled back. ‘Happy New Year, Draco,’ Harry said. He threw down the Floo powder. 

‘15 Clay Lane, Lavenham!’ he shouted. Draco’s smiling face twisted into the swirl of the Network.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translation  
> "Aucun d'eux ne sait jusqu'où cela ira, penses-tu?" means "Neither of them know where this will go, don't you think?"  
> "Peri, ne fais pas ça, s'il te plaît." means "Peri, don't do this please."  
> "Bonne année" means "Happy New Year"
> 
> What do you think? Let me know!


	16. Averting Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize is from canon.

Harry’s scar hadn’t hurt the entirety of winter term. He continued to go to Quidditch matches with Draco and Pansy, study with Hermione and Neville (who seemed to be really improving with his new wand) and go to Hagrid’s with Vincent and Greg. He began to study in the common room. While people didn’t look at him with suspicion or hatred anymore, he wasn’t the darling of Slytherin House by any means. 

Nott still shot him dirty looks from time to time, but hadn’t tried anything. McLaggen hadn’t either since he had finally been caught in the act by McGonagall shortly after Neville broke his wand. Rumour was, according to Pansy, that McLaggen had been shipped off to Durmstrang which was special since transferring didn’t happen very often. Neville was relieved, and so was Harry.

Coursework was focused on revising for the upcoming exams. Hermione had already broken out her enchanted flashcards (Harry had gotten her them for Christmas) back in February and had shown Harry her schedule. She was leading two study groups: Neville and himself, with Hannah Abbott, Megan Jones, and Justin Finch-Fletchley in another. Neville had suggested that their group could stand to go to once a week (they were currently meeting three times a week) but a death glare from Hermione had solved the problem very quickly.

They had a lot of practical review in Potions stretching into late March. Harry set up his potions kit next to Draco’s and checked the syllabus in his folder. Today they were reviewing the Antidote to Common Poisons, which they had originally brewed in November. Harry had put his book on the stand and flipped to that section by the time the Ravenclaws shuffled in. 

Snape got up from his chair and closed the door, exactly at one-thirty, with a flick of his wand. In the early weeks there’d be some knocking or banging on the door by the poor sods who had gotten there late. Eventually everyone learned never to be late for Potions. As if by clockwork, the Slytherins lined up in front of where the first-year cauldrons were stored. Each of their cauldrons had a label around one of the handles describing which student used the cauldron last. As they were a small year group, every pair had their own cauldron. It took a few minutes for the Ravenclaws to catch on and fetch their own cauldrons. 

When that was done, Snape took out a clipboard and graphite stylus. Business as usual.

Stephen Cornfoot raised his hand. ‘What are we doing today?’

Snape ignored him. He continued to move down the row and inspect the state of everyone’s cauldrons. He did this most every lesson to check for residues and resins left over from the previous practical lab. As he moved back to his desk, Cornfoot once again asked the question-of-questions. Snape paused from his writing and looked up.

‘Put your hand down,’ Snape said calmly. ‘Mr Cornfoot, have you read the syllabus that I distributed first term?’

Cornfoot crossed his arms. ‘Yes I did.’

‘You then should be able to tell me what we’re doing today, hm?’ Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

Cornfoot scowled and reached into his bag, pulling out a crumpled and stained piece of parchment. Snape tutted and waved his wand. Cornfoot’s paper vanished and another one floated to him from a filing cabinet next to Snape’s desk. He snatched the new copy and stuffed it into his bag just like the old one.

Snape moved front and center. ‘These pairings will have to re-wash their cauldrons and two points will be taken from their house: Bletchley, Bulstrode, Cornfoot, MacDougal. The others may begin.’

Cornfoot groaned and whispered something to Michael Corner, who was in another pairing. Corner shrugged and Cornfoot stormed off with the cauldron, leaving his partner Sally-Anne behind to set out the ingredients.

Harry went into the cupboard to grab a jar of lionfish spines while Draco set out his large granite mortar. He flipped through the instructions again and went back to the cupboard for castor oil. On his way back he was knocked into by Nott. Harry tried to grab the bottle but it smashed, sending oil everywhere. 

‘Watch where you’re going, Potter!’ he yelled.

Snape stepped out from the cauldron storage. ‘As I saw it, you bumped into him, Mr Nott. Return to your seat.’

Harry mended the bottle. The pieces slid back together as it arched upwards. Harry caught it and siphoned the liquid back into it.

‘Most impressive, Potter,’ Snape said. Harry began to walk back to his table. ‘Wait. Hand me the bottle.’ Harry handed it over and Snape inspected it. ‘It’s been contaminated. Use another.’

Towards the end of the period, Draco was reading a potions magazine while Harry stirred in a crushed bezoar. They were a bit ahead of the others. There was a loud hiss to their left like a hose with a kink in it. Snape swiftly jabbed his wand at Cornfoot and Sally-Anne Perkin’s cauldron, vanishing it and the entirety of its contents before it bubbled over. He looked furious. 

‘Did you bother to clean the cauldron after the last practical, Cornfoot, or do you consider the lives and safety of your classmates to be as valuable to you as your academics?’ 

Harry quickly cast the catalyst charm to finish the last sequence. His potion flared from a muddy green into a light pink. Draco put down his magazine. The two of them worked together on the most critical step. 

‘Do you know what the active ingredient in Cure For Boils is, Cornfoot?’ Snape asked. Cornfoot was silent. Snape scowled. ‘Perks, perhaps you know it.’

‘Shrake spine,’ said Sally-Anne quietly. Snape nodded sharply. 

He glided from his desk and down the steps. ‘The combination of shrake spine residue and bezoar creates a nerve agent of which there is no known antidote. In high concentrations, it has been known to kill an entire chamber full of people.

Snape was right in front of Cornfoot. ‘Listen to me: you will follow my instructions not because I tell you to, since I know it to be a futile exercise. You will do so because you place everyone else in danger through your general disregard for the most basic expectations. You will not do something so foolish again. Do I make myself clear?’

Cornfoot looked away. 

‘Perks, pack your things, you are free to go,’ Snape snapped. ‘Cornfoot, you will remain. The rest of you are to continue working.’

Sally-Anne quickly packed her things and left. By the end of the lecture, Draco helped Harry bottle and label their clear samples to take up for evaluation. They were, according to Snape’s marks, very near perfect. 

During the review period, Draco finally joined Harry and Neville in the study hall near the library. Harry was distracted, thinking about the potions lesson. Cornfoot had nearly killed them all- why? Why did he not care at all?

‘Why does everyone loathe Snape?’ asked Harry. That was the real issue. 

Neville paled. ‘Have you not been paying attention at all this year, Harry? Everyone knows Professor Snape was a Death Eater. Well, I knew that before I came, but…’

‘What? Snape, a Death Eater?’ Harry’s eyes widened. He couldn’t be.

Draco sighed and put down his quill. ‘Yes, a false accusation. My father was also accused. A lot of people’s fathers were. Why not Professor Snape?’

‘I mean, I also heard Professor Snape was a spy for the Ministry,’ Neville said, ‘My gran didn’t believe it. Said he was Dark at school when my dad was a Prefect.’

‘How would she have known?’ asked Harry.

‘Apparently he got in trouble a lot and got into dark magic. There was a row between him and… well, your dad, Harry. Gran thought for sure he’d sharpen the old axe and go after you next. 

‘Besides, a lot of Slytherins seemed to have joined You-Know-Who. No offense, Malfoy.’

Draco sniffed. ‘None taken. My father didn’t do anything.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I can’t see Snape being a Death Eater. He was friends with my mum. Plus why would Dumbledore let him teach here if he was still a Death Eater? Sure, he’s a bit harsh, but it’s not like he goes after people. He doesn’t with me, anyway.’

Neville shrugged. ‘I don’t really mind it too much. Sure he was a bit scary, but that’s just part of it, right?’

‘Exactly.’

Draco glanced up at the clock behind Harry’s head. ‘Oh, come along, Potter. We ought to get that book on goblin uprisings before the library closes.’

Harry checked his watch. ‘Yeah. You’ll be alright, Neville?’

Neville smiled. ‘Yeah. See you two.’

Later that evening, Harry snuck out after curfew with his father’s invisibility cloak. Draco was peckish and wanted some food from the kitchens. As far as Harry was concerned, it served him right for talking through all of dinner. 

Harry was on his way back to the dormitory. There was a voice through a slightly ajar door at an intersection in the dungeon corridors. 

At this time of night no one was supposed to be out and about. Well, neither was Harry, but that was beside the point. He tried to continue walking down the corridor, but, well, curiosity was always his weakness. Harry adjusted the Cloak and moved to peer through the door.

In the corridor stood Snape, but he wasn’t alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn’t make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying. 

‘... d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus ...’

‘Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,’ said Snape, his voice icy. ‘Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.’ 

Harry leant forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. 

Snape interrupted him. ‘Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?’ 

‘B-b-but Severus, I –’ 

‘You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,’ said Snape, taking a step towards him.

‘I-I don-t know what you –’

‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

Harry steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, ‘– your little bit of hocus pocus. I’m waiting.’

‘B-but I d-d-don’t –’

‘Very well,’ Snape cut in. ‘We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie.’

Harry quickly ducked to the side as Snape strode past him. Quirrell trembled for a moment and nearly jogged out of the corridor. Once he couldn’t hear Quirrell’s shoes on the stone floor, Harry continued on to the Slytherin dormitory. He was suddenly very grateful he didn’t talk to Snape about his scar. 

Harry quickly entered the dormitory. A prefect shot up and inspected the door as it opened, but Harry was able to slip past. He walked over to one of the window seats on what he called the “aquarium wall” where Pansy and Draco were playing wizard’s chess. Harry ducked into an empty alcove, pulled off his father’s cloak, and tapped Draco’s shoulder. 

The boy looked like he’d been electrocuted. He jumped clear out of his seat and whipped around. The table and chessboard clattered to the ground. 

‘For Merlin’s sake, Potter!’ exclaimed Draco. He put a hand to his chest and breathed. Pansy shook her head and began helping the pieces back into their boxes.

‘I need to talk to you. Both of you.’

‘Where’s my food?’ Draco demanded. 

‘Later.’

‘No, Potter- I want my rogan josh  _ now _ .’

Harry began to walk up the stairs with Draco storming behind him. Pansy only did so after she nudged the black rook back into its box at long last.

‘You’re insane,’ Draco said. He was at his desk eating his rogan josh, his fork stilled over the bowl.

‘Look, that’s what I heard,’ Harry said from his bed. ‘We know that Quirrell and Voldemort are connected somehow. Maybe Snape doesn’t know that but they’re working to get it together anyway, or maybe Snape’s gone back to his old ways.’

‘Have you met Professor Snape?’ Pansy asked. ‘He has more Defense Against the Dark Arts experience than Quirrell ever could, not to mention he’s a much more capable wizard. Even if Quirrell was working for You-Know-Who, why would Professor Snape rely on Quirrell to get the stone?’

‘I don’t know. He can use it to get fabulously wealthy, can’t he?’

‘Harry, he's a Potions Master,’ Draco drawled. ‘Professor Snape could’ve gone anywhere in any number of industries if money mattered to him. He’s not looking to turn metals into gold.’

‘If Hermione could figure out how to get past a three-headed-dog by reading a textbook, I think Quirrell could as well,’ added Pansy. 

Harry shook his head. ‘There has to be more protections than that. McGonagall told me not to investigate it back in first term. Snape mentioned Quirrell’s hocus-pocus. I bet each of our teachers did something to protect the stone.’

‘Alright,’ Draco said, throwing his hands up in surrender. ‘Believe me, Snape could go through them all. Even then, you still haven’t told me why Snape would want the stone.’

Harry took a deep breath to counteract his growing frustration. ‘What about eternal life? You said it yourself that a lot of people would choose to live forever. Maybe Quirrell and Snape agreed to share the Elixir once they had the Stone. Or maybe…’ Harry’s eyes widened. ‘Maybe it can give life.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Pansy said. ‘He’s implying Snape and Quirrell want to bring back You-Know-Who.’

Draco paled. ‘You heard Flamel. If your scar hurts any worse, you ought to go to Dumbledore.’

‘That’s just it, it hasn’t yet.’ 

‘But if it does-’

‘Yes, I  _ know _ ,’ said Harry. 

‘There’s no way he can come back. You k-killed him.’

‘Oh it’s too horrible,’ Pansy said. ‘No spell can bring back the dead.’

‘Not even dark magic?’ Harry said. He paused. ‘Dumbledore explained it to me a bit when I first came. He said that Voldemort pushed Dark magic to its limits.’

‘Harry, you don’t know what you’re saying,’ Draco said. ‘There’s a reason Father won’t discuss the war. Some things should just be left unsaid.’

Harry frowned. ‘I didn’t want to upset you. I just think that’s why Quirrell and Snape are stealing it.’

‘How many times do we have to tell you?’ Pansy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘Snape  _ isn’t  _ trying to steal it.’

‘I’m not-’

‘-Harry,  _ really _ .’ said Draco with exasperation.

‘I’m going to bed,’ said Pansy. She hopped off of Draco’s bed. It took the wind out of both of their sails. The door slid shut behind her. 

Harry turned back to Draco. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you.’

‘I know,’ Draco said. He put down his fork. ‘I’m sorry too.’

‘Still friends?’ Harry asked.

‘Don’t you remember?’ Draco said. He smiled. ‘You’re stuck with me until the end, Potter. Even if you are infuriatingly stubborn.’

‘So are you.’

‘Am not.’

Harry smiled. 

After a while, Draco extinguished his bluebell flame with a wave of his wand and closed A History of Magic. Harry looked over and they exchanged a silent smile. 

Once Draco came back, Harry cleared his throat. ‘I never asked. Why didn’t you sign the book when you gave it to me?’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’

‘That doesn’t make sense. I didn’t know it was coming in the first place.’

‘A double-surprise,’ Draco drawled. He took out one of his uniforms from the wardrobe. ’Honestly I thought you’d have figured it out.’

‘Nah, it was a double surprise,’ Harry said. ‘It’s quite good, the book.’

Draco smirked. ‘Why thank you.’

‘No, thank  _ you _ ,’ Harry said with a smile. ‘And thanks for helping Neville with Potions.’

Draco scoffed. He slid into his bed. ‘Trust me, it was not because I like him. I didn’t want Professor Snape to get replaced because of Longbottom’s cauldron exploding.’

‘Come on, Draco,’ Harry said, taking off his glasses. ‘You do care, somewhere. I know you do. Trust me, I’ll find it.’

‘When you do, tell me so I can cut it out with an excavation curse.’ Harry glared at him. ‘Fine,’ Draco said. ‘I suppose Longbottom’s  _ tolerable  _ when he’s not talking about  _ botany _ .’

‘And Hermione?’ asked Harry idly. He closed the curtains except on the left side facing Draco.

Draco paused, then turned a page. ‘Useful.’

‘Pansy?’

‘She’s the brains of the operation,’ he replied. ‘She  _ does  _ talk too much, but she’s fond of you. Obviously she’s indispensable.’

‘Hermione isn’t?’

Draco huffed. ‘That’s for you to decide on, as she’s  _ your  _ friend. As for her being the brain- she’s not the social brain, definitely not. I don’t think Granger could charm her way out of a paper bag. As far as her intelligence, I don’t need help being the scholarly brain. 

‘Before you ask, yes, I think Crabbe and Goyle have their moments. They certainly give you a chance to show off your skills.’

‘Oh, they’re nice,’ Harry said. He smiled. ‘I like helping them. I got Greg one of those enchanted pointers in the catalogue. It reads out things and I figure he could use it when we study.’ Harry sat up. ‘D’you want me to show you the drawing Vincent sent me?’

‘Not now,’ said Draco, waving his hand and flipping the page. 

‘Alright,’ Harry said. He leaned back. Another page turn. ‘So, why don’t you like Neville or Hermione?’

‘Longbottom’s a Gryffindor,’ Draco said. ‘Well, I guess that really doesn’t matter in his case because he seems to like you well enough. Also, his family was against mine for centuries-’

‘So was mine,’ Harry said. He sat back up and put on his glasses. ‘Have you read the story of Abelard Malfoi and Hamo Potter?’

Draco coughed. ‘I might be familiar with it.’

‘According to my book, Hamo tracked a Welsh Green into Abelard’s territory from his lands. Hamo killed it. Abelard claimed its body.’

Draco put down his book and turned his head toward Harry. ‘Abelard hung the bones of the beast- Abaelardus ossae draconis displicaravit- in a tavern in Whithaven, near Chippenham, until the two of them dueled and leveled the entire town.’

‘There, you have it!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘I bet Neville’s family has done plenty of things like that.’

‘Not like that. It’s different.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘It just is,’ snapped Draco. 

‘Alright, Draco. I’ll leave you be.’ Harry frowned and turned to face the other curtain. Moments later, Draco sighed and turned offthe lights. 

Harry met Hermione and Neville in the study hall the next day for their weekly revision. When they once again went through the basic theory of photomancy, Hermione leaned in conspiratorially. 

‘Neville and I have checked the corridor every day,’ she whispered. ‘ Nothing goes on, day in or out. You’re sure Quirrell is trying to steal it?’

‘Yeah. Him and Snape,’ murmured Harry. He carefully began copying the diagram from Neville’s Herbology notes. He told them about the confrontation in the corridor. 

Hermione shook her head, her frizzy mane swinging from side to side. ‘No way. He’s a Hogwarts professor-’

‘-So is Quirrell!-’ hissed Neville.

‘… not to mention he-’ Hermione blushed. ‘Of course, I know  _ that _ , but maybe Snape was arguing that Quirrell ought to put his job first. It seems far more likely to me.’

‘If Snape worked for Voldemort-’ They both flinched. ‘Oh come on you two. If Snape worked for him then why wouldn’t he want to bring him back, if he could?’

Neville looked thoughtful. ‘My gran  _ did  _ say she never believed he’d actually defected. To our side, I mean. She does tell me a lot of things, now that I think about it...’

‘Look, we figured that each of the department heads did something to protect the Stone, and Hagrid of course gave them Fluffy.’ Harry said. ‘Snape knows his own challenge, and probably Quirrell’s, if not all of them.’

‘So what’re they waiting for?’ asked Neville.

‘Dumbledore!’ Hermione exclaimed. She looked sheepishly back down at her notes when some older Ravenclaws looked her way. ‘They’re waiting for Dumbledore to leave the grounds.’

‘Haven’t you noticed Dumbledore hardly ever comes down from his office?’ asked Harry.

‘He comes for meals sometimes,’ Hermione said, ‘He did the morning of the duel anyway.’

‘I’ve said hello to him a couple of times,’ added Neville.

‘So when would Dumbledore leave?’

‘It’d be…’ Neville concentrated. ‘Beltane.’

Hermione looked confused. ‘What?’

‘Oh, Beltane. It’s the traditional beginning of summer, and when the Wizengamot opens. Dumbledore’s the Chief Warlock and a representative, y’know. He’s supposed to attend the opening at least, but it’s good form for him to stay during the entire session.’

Harry nodded, ‘That seems the best time for them to strike.’ Hermione looked at Neville curiously.

‘What?’ Neville asked. ‘My gran wouldn’t let me wear my ring. She thought I’d get it lost or something.’

‘Neville, do you get on with your gran?’ asked Hermione. 

Neville stilled. ‘What? Why would you ask that?’

‘We’re just curious.’

‘Yeah, no. I do,’ Neville said. ‘We’re fine. I mean, she was a bit cross that I broke Dad’s wand, and she can be a lot, but she’s my gran. She means well. And I’m talking with someone about it all.’

Harry smiled. ‘Oh that’s good, Neville. I’m glad for you.’

‘Can we not talk about this, please?’ he asked weakly. Hermione opened her mouth, but snapped it shut when Harry pinched her shoulder.

‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘Sorry, Neville.’

‘It’s fine. I just don’t-’ he breathed. ‘Yeah. Thanks. So… Hagrid wanted to see you?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘I thought I’d take Vincent and Greg, but Vincent has art club-’

‘I’ll go with you,’ offered Neville. 

‘Alright. Usual time tomorrow.’ Neville was confused. Hadn’t he taken Neville to Hagrid’s before?

‘Err, when is that?’ he asked.

Apparently not. ‘I’ll be outside your common room at four-thirty,’ said Harry.

Harry and Greg followed a couple of older Gryffindors to their dormitory on the second floor. Like the Slytherin dormitory, there was a short hall with portraits of warlocks who must’ve been the old Heads of Houses, including one of a much younger Dumbledore. At the far end however was a portrait of a robust lady in a pink dress. The two Slytherins waited on the landing outside of the antechamber, attracting curious and sometimes hostile looks from passersby. 

‘What are you two doing up here?’ a voice called. Harry looked to the side to see two of first year Gryffindor boys walking up the stairs. Weasley was scowling at them, and Finnegan was guarded.

‘Waiting for Neville,’ Greg said. He folded his arms as if to say “What are you going to do about it?”.

‘Why?’ asked Finnegan.

‘It’s none of your business’

‘It’s alright, Greg,’ Harry said. He turned to the others. ‘We’re taking him to go to Hagrid’s.’

‘Hagrid?’ Weasley asked, a little stunned. ‘The gamekeeper?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re not gonna hex him?’

‘Why would we?’ Harry asked. 

Weasley’s ears went pink. ‘It’s none of your-’

‘One of you Slytherins did,’ Finnegan interjected, ‘Dean said he swore he saw a flash of green under-robe and blond hair.’

‘Seamus!’

Harry looked at Greg who shrugged. ‘Neither of us have blond hair. What happened?’

‘Dean got hit with a Leg-Locker Jinx after Herbology,’ Finnegan said over Weasley’s protests. ‘He broke a few teeth when he fell. Surprised you didn’t see it.’

‘ _ Seamus! _ ’

‘What? It’s obvious they didn’t do it. Maybe it was Malfoy or Nott-’

Harry shook his head. ‘Draco was with me the entire day, and his hair is very distinct. It was Nott. If you catch him, report him.’

‘Why should we?’ asked Weasley.

‘...So it doesn’t happen again?’ Harry said. He nearly laughed.

Weasley shook his head. ‘It’ll happen regardless. You Slytherins-’

Harry raised his hands. ‘Look. I don’t want to cause a fuss. I just want to let Neville know that we’re here and ready to go to Hagrid’s. Would you tell him for us?’

Finnegan nodded. ‘I will. C’mon Ron.’ He went down the hallway, with Weasley following.

Moments after, the portrait of the lady swung open and Neville came out with a couple curious glances following him out. None of those stares were more noticeable than Weasley’s. 

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Neville said. ‘I had to feed Trevor.’

Harry shrugged. ‘S’alright.’

Greg and Neville chattered about gardening as they went through the castle and out to Hagrid’s. As they came to Hagrid’s hut, they saw all the curtains had been drawn and Hagrid wasn’t outside waiting for them as he usually would. 

‘Should we come back later?’ asked Neville.

‘No, he’s here,’ Greg said, pointing up at the smoke-billowing chimney. 

Hesitantly, Harry knocked on Hagrid’s door. The half giant cracked it open. ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s me, Harry. I’m here with Greg and Neville.’

‘Neville Longbottom?’

‘Hello, sir,’ Neville said, looking up. 

‘Oh, righ’, come in then…’ Hagrid said. He opened the door to the hut, which was really dark inside except for the smouldering fireplace. Hagrid quickly shut the door behind them. 

It was like a furnace inside. Sure, it was a little rainy outside, but it was nearly forty degrees in here. Greg shucked off his robe and jumper, with Neville and Harry following suit. Hagrid offered them tea and some blackberry scones, which they accepted graciously. Hagrid’s cooking had improved, after all.

‘So, how are yeh all gettin’ on?’ asked Hagrid. He flumped into his big comfy chair. 

‘I’m alright,’ said Harry. ‘Apparently Nott’s been hexing Gryffindors.’

Hagrid was shocked. ‘Really? An’ no one thought ter report tha’?’

‘We’re not sure if it really was him,’ Harry replied.

‘Ah, I see. Other than that?’ Hagrid said, looking at the other two boys. 

‘We’re building a greenhouse at the estate,’ Greg said through bites of scone.

‘Oh that’s great ter hear!’ Hagrid boomed. ‘I s’pose Neville here could show yeh a few things. Y’know Professor Sprout’s been braggin’ about yeh quite a bit.’

Greg glanced at Neville, giving him a small smile. ‘I’d like the help.’

‘Well, yeah, I s’pose I can, sure.’

Hagrid nodded approvingly. ‘Good ter hear.’

‘Hagrid, can we open a window?’ Harry asked as he loosened his tie. ‘It’s boiling in here.’

‘Sorry, I uh’ Hagrid shifted in his chair. ‘I can’ do that.’ 

‘What? Why?’ said Greg. 

Neville’s eyes widened. ‘Hagrid… is that what I think it is?’ He pointed to a large black egg over a bed of glowing red coals in Hagrid’s hearth.

‘An egg?’ Harry said. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘Not just any old egg, a dragon egg!’ Neville exclaimed.

‘Won it,’ Hagrid said. He was pleased with himself. ‘Last night at the pub, I was playin’ cards against this feller. Seemed glad ter be rid of it, if I’m honest.’

‘But that’s illegal,’ Neville said, his eyes near-permanently agog. ‘No one’s supposed to breed dragons anymore.’

‘Always wanted a dragon, didn’ I?’ Hagrid said with a fond glance at the egg. ‘Nah, I s’pose I’ll be alrigh’. 

‘But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?’ asked Harry.

‘Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,’ said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. ‘Got this outta the library –  _ Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit _ – it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ’cause their mothers breathe on ’em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here – how ter recognise diff’rent eggs – what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.’ 

He looked very pleased with himself, but Greg didn’t. 

‘Hagrid, you live in a wooden house,’ he said. 

But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

‘What are we going to do, Harry?’ Neville whispered. They were making their way back up to the castle. 

‘I don’t know.’

‘Hermione would say that we need to tell someone,’ Neville said again.

‘I suppose she’d be right, but this is Hagrid,’ Greg said. 

‘Greg’s right. I don’t want him to get sacked or worse- arrested,’ Harry said. 

‘We can’t just let him do this.’

‘I know!’ Harry snapped. ‘Sorry. We can’t just tell anyone.’

They continued for a bit as Harry cooled down. The rain was very gentle and relaxing on their near-seared skin. Greg and Neville didn’t even talk about gardening the whole way up the path.

‘What about Dumbledore?’ Neville said suddenly. ‘After all, he’s the one who let Hagrid keep Fluffy.’

‘Fluffy?’ Greg asked from behind them. ‘What’s that?’

‘Later, Greg,’ Harry said with an apologetic smile. ‘Alright. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?’

Someone above must’ve been smiling down at their plot. At dinner, Professor Dumbledore strode in wearing a bright pink ensemble. He waved merrily at some students before taking his place at the centre-table. 

Greg nudged Harry. ‘Didn’t you want to talk to him?’ he murmured. 

‘At dinner? Greg, please.’ Harry said, paling a little.

‘What’s this about?’ asked Draco.

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘You know if it’s anything with the House, you’re supposed to go to one of the prefects,’ Pansy reminded him.

Harry reached for some flatbread from the serving dish. ‘It’s not.’

‘What is it?’ asked Draco. 

‘Would you-’

‘Just go up there,’ Draco said. ‘All that generational Gryffindorish-ness must have rubbed off somewhere, Potter.’

‘I was almost sorted there, you know,’ Harry said.

‘Oh Merlin,’ Draco groaned. ‘Don’t say things like that.’ 

‘It’s true!’

‘Harry, go,’ Greg said, pushing his shoulder gently. 

Harry looked up to see Dumbledore ladling peanut stew into his bowl. Slowly, Harry stood up which attracted some curious glances from the Slytherins further down. He nearly sat back down, but Greg’s glare kept him on course. He swung over his leg and, looking at Dumbledore (blissfully unaware) the entire time, he slowly marched over. 

He heard titters and whispers behind him from the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. He was sweating underneath his collar looking at people looking at him. God, why did it feel like the entire world was watching him? Perhaps they were and the combined heat and energy of all their gazes would cause Harry to spontaneously combust. He’d give anything for anything to save him from going up to Dumbledore at dinner. He quickened his pace and took a deep breath. He could do this. 

He made his way up the steps. McGonagall smiled at him expectantly, but he paid her no mind. He looked at Dumbledore who was adding a bit of salt to his peanut stew.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, setting down the salt shaker. ‘Ah, Mr Potter. How might we be of assistance?’

‘I… Sir, I, uh…’ Dumbledore put down his spoon and waited patiently. Harry’s throat clenched.

‘Potter, you know the Rules,’ Professor Snape reminded him. Observe proper dining etiquette, use proper channels for grievances: he was breaking a few Rules just by standing here. 

Harry nodded. ‘I do, I do, but-’

‘Perhaps I can assist you,’ Snape interjected. ‘Professor Dumbledore is after all a very busy man.’

Dumbledore waved him off. ‘Nonsense, Severus. Give him some time.’

‘No thank you, Professor,’ Harry said. He certainly didn’t want to speak to Professor Snape of all people. ‘Headmaster, could I talk with you?’

‘Certainly. I suspect you mean in private?’ he asked. Harry nodded. ‘Very well. That can be arranged. Are you revising this evening?’’

‘No- I mean yes, but…’

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Not to worry, Mr Potter. You are within the top four of your year, you know.’

‘I am?’ asked Harry. McGonagall and Snape both were glaring at Dumbledore. 

‘Indeed. Now, I will collect you shortly after dinner. Is that acceptable?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Excellent,’ he said. He looked briefly down at his stew and looked back up at Harry. ‘Oh, and do try this stew: it is  _ divine _ .’ 

Harry smiled faintly and quickly returned to his seat.

‘Oh Potter, you’re blushing!’ Draco exclaimed.

‘When’s the wedding?’ Pansy said with a near-cruel smirk.

Harry huffed, feeling his face heat up. ‘Shut up…’

‘Look he’s blushing even more!’ Draco crowed.

‘Lay off him,’ Vince growled. Harry smiled in thanks. 

‘What?’ Pansy said. ‘If you’d had told me what this was all about, Harry, I could’ve done it for you.’

‘No, it’s a good thing he did,’ Draco said. ‘He’s learning. Although you really should’ve put it in writing. It’s vulgar to approach someone during a seated meal.’

Harry looked at him murderously. ‘You didn’t think to tell me this before I went up?’

‘Well, no. Draco doesn’t think,’ Pansy said airily. ‘It’s why he’s being beaten by Granger in the highest marks.’

‘I’m in the top four,’ said Harry with a smile.

Draco’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Did he say who else was? Was it me? Tell me it was me.’

‘He didn’t, Malfoy,’ Harry snapped.

‘Oh, he did!’

‘Can’t you hear, Malfoy?’ Greg said. ‘He obviously didn’t tell Harry.’

Vince clapped Harry’s back. ‘Good going, Harry.’

‘Thanks Vince.’

As dinner drew to a close, Harry waited at the table. He had finally convinced Pansy and Draco that he’d be fine, that it was just Albus Dumbledore he was talking to. No big deal whatsoever. 

‘Shall we away, Mr Potter?’ Dumbledore said as the last few students left the hall.

They ambled up the first two flights of stairs before travelling through the main first floor corridor. A Ravenclaw Prefect nearly stopped Harry, but clicked her mouth shut and promptly turned the other way upon seeing Dumbledore.

‘Are you enjoying your classes, Mr Potter?’ Dumbledore asked. 

‘Oh, yes, sir.’

‘Excellent news,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Professor McGonagall is most impressed with you. I have no doubt next year she will insist that you take the accelerated programme. Second year is a continuation of non-organic transfigurations, you know.’

Harry didn’t know what to say. He defaulted to something he hadn’t asked in months. ‘What did you teach here?’

‘I taught Transfiguration. In fact, I taught Professor McGonagall Transfiguration,’ Dumbledore chuckled. ‘She too showed particular talent for it, as did your father. Through here.’ They stopped in front of a portrait of a medieval wizard. ‘Ars mortis.’

The portrait snarled at Dumbledore, but was compelled to open its passageway. Dumbledore lit his wand and went through

‘Do you miss teaching?’ asked Harry.

‘Indeed I do miss it,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I enjoy everything else I have occupied my time with, but teaching was one of the few truly pleasurable professions. How have you been settling into Slytherin House?’

‘It’s fine, sir,’ Harry replied. ‘I have a few friends.’

‘Indeed, and thank you,’ he said as Harry held the door open for him to the top of the passageway. ‘No doubt you heard many dire predictions being made against you in the course of this year.’

‘I didn’t pay much attention to them, if I’m honest, sir,’ said Harry. There was a small numbered plaque “7” on the wall. Harry was now on the seventh floor, though it felt like he had only gone up two flights of stairs. 

Dumbledore stopped in front of a large bronze statue of a gryphon in a niche. ‘Mr Potter, what might be your favorite dessert?’

‘Er, treacle tart?’ Harry said. The statue began to twist on its base, slowly rising to form a spiral staircase. Dumbledore smiled and gestured for Harry to follow him. A little stunned, Harry took a moment before following. At the top of the staircase was a simple wooden door. With a wave of Dumbledore’s hand, the door unlocked and swung open. 

The headmaster’s office was very spacious, at least two storeys. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the lights of the office slowly came on. The space was split in half with the first more of a living space compared to the upper floor. A bank of couches and comfy chairs surrounded a large fireplace, while silver instruments that tickered and puffed, and stacks of books that swayed and rose, dominated the other side. 

On a dais was a stately desk decorated with leather and gold leaf and a throne. Beyond that were staircases leading to the second floor. There were tall bookshelves filled with thick tomes, yellowed scrolls, and curios galore. 

‘Please sit down,’ Dumbledore said. He sat on his throne and gestured to a comfortable looking chair across from him.

‘Before we begin, I must inform you of Hogwarts policy. It is standard procedure for a parent or guardian to be present when any student meets with me. This requirement may be waived at the student’s request, of course. Do you wish for your guardians to be present?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, I think I’m good, sir.’

‘Very well. Does this pertain to your guardianship in any way?’

‘No, sir. Ted and Andromeda are wonderful.’

‘Oh excellent, excellent. What, then, troubles you, Mr Potter?’

A lot of things were troubling Harry lately. Why was Draco being so weird, especially after that mirror last term? Why would Dumbledore hire not one but potentially two Death Eaters? As he ruminated, he focused on the rest of the room. There was a large bird, a phoenix, that twittered softly as it slept. 

‘Hagrid has a dragon,’ Harry said finally. Dumbledore’s brow raised as if he didn’t expect that. ‘He’s my friend, but he lives in a wooden house and I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. I don’t want him to get hurt and I really don’t want him to get sacked over it. It’s what he’s always wanted and -’

Dumbledore raised his hand gently. ‘A moment, Mr Potter. You say Hagrid has a dragon? What sort? Has it hatched?’

Harry coughed. ‘Uh, Norwegian Ridgeback. It’s still an egg.’

‘I see. I see…’ Dumbledore steepled his fingers. ‘As you may be aware, dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709. The possession of unhatched dragon eggs is highly illegal. 

‘Did he mention where he received this egg?’

‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’ Harry asked. He supposed it would be too late for Hagrid if he was, as Harry did just give away the entire plot, but-

‘Not at all,’ Dumbledore said. Harry was relieved. 

‘He said he got it in a pub. He won it off a man playing cards.’

‘A man? You are sure it was a man?’

Harry shook his head. ‘It’s what Hagrid said. I didn’t see it.’

‘Of course, Mr Potter, of course,’ Dumbledore said. He went silent for a moment before reaching into a desk drawer and pulling out a sheaf of parchment. ‘As it happens, a fair few of our alumni work in a dragon reserve in Romania. I will contact them to transport the dragon once it has hatched.’ He smiled indulgently. ‘It is not  _ unheard of _ for a Norwegian Ridgeback to roost this far west.’

‘Oh good,’ Harry said. He scratched the back of his neck. ‘Thanks. Er- thanks sir.’

‘You are most welcome.’ His smile faded ever so slightly. ‘Is there anything else you wish to tell me?’

Harry thought back to what else he could ask Dumbledore. Any one of them could send Harry down a rabbit hole he wasn’t sure he wanted to go down.

Harry shook his head. ‘No sir. Not right now.’

Dumbledore nodded carefully. ‘Very well then. Shall we?’

Dumbledore escorted Harry back to the Slytherin dungeon, humming a wizarding Christmas hymn Harry had heard Ted and Andromeda sing. In a few weeks, he would return to Clay Lane for a short while for Easter. Hopefully by then Hagrid’s dragon would be gone. 


	17. An Open Wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for surgery, anxiety... I think that covers it.

Andromeda was in a rush. She exchanged her nightgown and slippers for her functional heeled boots and crimson Healer robe and picked up a small sack in the fridge. She set off for work through the Floo network as she did every morning; at seven o’clock sharp after a quick cup of tea and sandwich. She was engulfed in green flames, her field of vision spinning as if she were on one position on a rotary dial being spun back to her initial position. 

Andromeda materialised within a large white hall with rows upon rows of fireplaces. Family members of patients and visitors middled about the hall, vanishing the soot off of their robes before funnelling into a queue. As Andromeda could see, the queue stretched beyond a glass wall and a sterile white archway and ended at the reception desk. Today would be busier than usual.

She was thankful that for the near-twenty years that she had been a Healer she never had to pull the night rounds that the mediwarlocks on her staff had to. It was hard enough dealing with uncooperative patients without also having to sacrifice a natural sleep cycle. Andromeda pinned her St. Mungo’s ID - a pewter badge of a crossed bone and wand - over her breast pocket and walked through the glass wall away from the general reception. 

As she walked through, she didn’t pay mind to the hospital hallway behind her twisting and writhing like a massive kaleidoscopic snake that took her directly to her office. The first time (more like the five-hundredth time) she went through the transport hoop it had made her nauseous. She knew now to just trudge forward. After all, this spared her an agonising walk. 

‘Morning, Healer Tonks,’ said Grimes, a Mediwizard on her staff. Andromeda inclined her head to him and soldiered on. She paused near the mediwarlock station, scanning for her quarry. She caught a glimpse of blue-grey hair and tore off after the witch who wore it. 

‘Griselda!’ Andromeda called, her heels clicking on the hardwood flooring. 

The older mediwitch turned, and Andromeda proffered the sack. The witch opened it and gasped. She held up a slice of delicate pound cake and gave it a sniff, nearly falling over. 

‘Oh how delightful. You shouldn’t have.’

Andromeda smiled softly. ‘It was no trouble. Ted was all too happy to make it for you. Happy birthday.’

‘Thank you, dear. And give Edward my thanks as well, would you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Now that I have you here…’ she breached Andromeda’s personal space. ‘How is Mr Potter?’

She took a step back. ‘Now Griselda-’

‘Who would I tell?’ she said, almost pleadingly. 

‘Let’s see: Maybel, Charlie, Hector perhaps-’

‘That leak wasn’t my problem, dear.’

Definitely pleading, with a hint of doggedness. This wouldn’t go away. 

‘Alright. He’s fine. He’s adjusting to Slytherin well, even has a few friends.’

‘A few?’ Griselda scoffed. ‘A veritable gaggle of junior aristocrats, I’ve heard.’

‘Yes, I’m aware.’ A small pin like the one on their blouses whizzed by Griselda’s head and was tapping Andromeda on her shoulder. 

Her eyebrow quirked. ‘And you’re alright with that?

Andromeda gave a slight shrug. ‘It was inevitable, I suppose.’

‘But your  _ sister- _ ’ Andromeda shut down the conversation completely with a hand wave. 

‘If you would excuse me, Griselda. I’m being pinned.’

‘Of course, dear. Of course. Thank you for-’

Andromeda walked off without another word. She followed the pin back to its source. 

‘What do we have, Nicodemus?’ Andromeda said, coming into a prep room. Nicodemus Stephens was one of her residents, and a very talented Healer. He passed her a surgical gown and she put his pin on an unused counter.

‘The patient is a venerable one hundred-and-thirty,’ Stephens said. Andromeda quickly tied back her hair even further and bent for a shorter nurse to affix a wimple around her head. 

‘Fell a height from a broomstick,’ Stephens continued. ‘We detected critical contusions of the thoracic aorta, courtesy of said fall.’ Andromeda waved her wand, covering her face with a Bubble Head Charm. ‘Morrigan and Hammerstein are working on other more superficial wounds-’

Andromeda paused, outstretching her hands for prep-potion to sterilize her hands. ‘Who is it?’ she handed off her wand to a nurse for it to be prepped. 

‘Dippet,’ Stephens said. Armando Dippet then, the aged former Headmaster of Hogwarts and known late-blooming daredevil. It seems his penchant for danger had cost him dearly. 

Healer Stephens waved his wand, causing Andromeda’s hands in thick membranous gloves not unlike Muggle neoprene. She backed into the operating room. 

‘Pressure’s steady. He’s under,’ said Hammerstein. 

Dippet’s frail chest was outlined in a blue light cast by a nurse’s wand, the damage evident to Andromeda. Morrigan stepped aside and allowed Andromeda an access point. 

‘Breach,’ Andromeda called. A nurse’s wand trailed over Dippet’s chest and caused it to split and widen. Two others kept the incision open and clear of blood respectively. Andromeda set to work. 

The surgery, with magic or not, was one of the most complex and high-risk procedures known to medical science. Sensor spells kept Dippet’s vitals clearly visible, while a potion stopped his heart, another supplying his brain with blood and another his lungs with oxygen. 

Andromeda was quick, efficient as always, careful. The dying wizard’s magic thwarted her at every turn. She supposed that was how she was raised and what made her an excellent doctor - her constant fear of failure keeping her to the mark.

It wasn’t uncommon for magic to lash out like a snarling beast, but it didn’t make it any easier. She worked without flinching when Dippet’s eyes flailed open, when the potion around his heart failed and had to be reapplied. He was still out, but his magic was working overtime to make sure he would revive. 

Unfortunately, it was too late, even for her skills. 

She raised her hands from her work as the life signs dimmed in the blue glow of the sensor magic. 

It was over.

The patient was gone. 

Armando Dippet had died on her table.

Merlin knew she tried her best, but her best wasn’t good enough. 

‘Andromeda,’ Hammerstein murmured, putting a blooded glove on her white gown. ‘Come on.’

She clutched the earthenware mug tightly. Her eyes were fixed on a coffee table succulent. Andromeda heard the door open, but didn’t turn around. The door closed quietly behind the entrant, and his bootheels clicked over to the chaise-lounge across from Andromeda. Silas Flint was her supervisor. He too had been a Healer-surgeon, until his ability to fundraise and organize outpaced his ability to save lives. His grey hair was slicked back, his beard neatly trimmed. He was an alright boss even if his family was loathsome. 

The man cleared his throat. ‘Before we begin, I want you to know that it wasn’t your fault.’

She held her tongue. Whether she needed to or not, compartmentalising was always her default.

‘Of course it was,’ she said.

‘No, it really wasn’t. Medicine isn’t miracle-making, Tonks.’

Andromeda shook her head. ‘I could’ve done better.’

‘You are the top surgeon in this ward. When he came to us, he had several more life-ending injuries. He was dead before he came to the table. You know that.’

‘You think after all this time I would get used to it.’

‘The day you do is the day I should start worrying,’ Silas chuckled. ‘I never got used to it. Never. But that’s just it, isn’t it?’

‘Life isn’t fair - get over it?’

‘Well, yes, but actually, no. You care deeply. Losing a patient who was already too far gone hits you harder than most, encountering this barrier is your… anathema. Hammerstein takes it in his stride, as no doubt you’ve noticed.’

‘I never understood how he managed it.’

Flint rolled his eyes. ‘Oh come on, we both know he’s secretly a shark parading in a human costume.’

Andromeda laughed despite her mood.

Flint sighed. ‘That’s hardly the point. You are for better or worse a Slytherin, through and through: ambition, tenacity- these things have taken you far in life.’

‘They made me a great Healer, a better person,’ Andromeda agreed.

‘They are the things that are keeping you  _ from  _ greatness.’

‘I do take holidays.’

‘You take three days off for Christmas every year. August was the only significant time you’ve had off in… ten years? I’m surprised going this long you haven’t run yourself into the ground.’

‘Can’t you see why I’m doing this?’

‘I know. It’s why I took my promotion. It’s why I’m benching you. Mandatory leave, effective immediately.’

‘What about my residents?’

‘Don’t worry about them right now. The world won’t stop if you take a break now and again as you ought to. They will get plenty of attention from Morrigan and Hammerstein.’

‘Is this an order?’

‘If you like. It’s certainly not what Papa had intended when he said to “command women to do as they ought”, but if you like, sure. That’s an order from your superior: take a fucking holiday.’

Andromeda shuddered. ‘Your father and mine were very similar.’

Flint shared a sympathetic look. ‘As we all know too well. Nevertheless, I am convinced you will deal with stress and have a better home life if you take this time. Noticeably better. I know I did.’

‘Alright. I’ll do it.’

‘Excellent. I look forward to future holidays for you. I’ll inform your residents.’

‘Did he have family? Dippet.’

‘A few cousins in Avignon. No one here,’ he informed her. ‘Have a good holiday, Healer Tonks.’

Andromeda sighed and took the dismissal. She clutched the teacup and walked back to her office. 

She supposed Flint was right. After Nymphadora began going through the Muggle school system she hadn’t taken much of a holiday. She’d always dismissed their concerns, dismissed their pleas for her to come home. How could she?

Flint’s allusion to his parents reminded her what she was running from, what she supposed Flint had run away from. Their families had taken so much from the wizarding world, and Andromeda felt it was her duty to give back, to redeem them.

Which was silly. After all, her family had disowned her. 

So then what? What was it that allowed it to go this far? She wasn’t redeeming her family. She was running from them. Even now as Aunt Walburga and Father were moulding in their graves on the Kent estate. 

Andromeda left her cup on her desk, stacked her papers into a filing cabinet, and exited through to the Floo in Tonks Flower Emporium. There, amongst the violets and daffodils, she caught sight of Ted. Beautiful, wonderful, supportive Ted.

He looked down at his watch. ‘Aren’t you at work now, darling?’

‘Obviously not.’

He put down his apron and came around the counter. ‘What’s wrong?’ He put his hand on her shoulder.

‘The boss ordered me to take a holiday,’ Andromeda said. He smiled and hugged her. She reciprocated and he hugged her even tighter.

‘I’m so glad,’ he murmured into her shoulder. She looked down to see that same boyish smile she had fallen in love with so long ago. 

That was the last step it took for her to break down, to pop like an overflooded dam. She cried and cried. Ted held her, guiding her to the floor as she finally, blessedly, let out twenty years worth of stress. 

She  _ wailed _ .

It was ugly. 

It was horrific. 

And Ted was there, humming a tune she wasn’t familiar with, rubbing circles on her back. He told her many things without saying a word.

_ It’s alright. _

_ I’m here. _

_ I’ll always be here. _

_ Let it out.  _

Ted closed the shop early. 

The two of them sat in the back by the unlit fireplace on an old couch, holding hands and remaining close. Ted lazily stroked the back of her clasped hand with her thumb, not saying a word.

‘A patient died on my table,’ she said finally.

Silence still.

‘I did my best, but it was too late.’

Ever silent. 

‘Ted.’

Her husband looked at her with that same half-cocked smile. ‘What do you need from me? I can’t tell you about something I’ve never had to experience.’

‘I need help,’ she croaked.

He nodded. ‘Alright. I’ll do my best. I wanted to tell you…. Well I have a lot to say. Will you listen to me?’

She wasn’t offended. She knew what she was like. She nodded.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course.’

Ted let out a puff of air and launched into it. ‘Do you remember when we first met?’

She did, but she shook her head. She wanted to hear him talk about it again. He rolled his eyes and sighed fondly.

‘Fourth year, it was. McGonagall had partnered us up for Transfiguration. We met in the library, a “neutral zone” you called it. You didn’t sneer at me, you didn’t call me names. You just listened, helped me bumble through fourth-year Transfiguration.We both met in different places and then… that dance, at the Astronomy tower. Do you remember it?’

She smiled, leaning back as she did remember. She remembered telling Ted to dress up in his finest. He had shown up in his transfigured uniform with the most ghastly bow tie known to man. She had worn something simple, yet elegant. They had danced, listening to Ted’s records through the night. 

Their first date. 

‘You were stunning. Absolutely…’ he sighed. And I thought then and there “That’s the woman”. Not Amelia Bones, not Jessica Pritchard,  _ you _ .

‘A Pureblood from a Dark family who had been through so much shite just to sit and tutor me, who listened to me, bore my burdens when I needed and never gave your own to me. 

‘You had such strength, even then.’

‘Ted I-’ Andromeda began. Ted put a finger over her lips and smiled sadly.

‘I think after all this time you’re finally realising what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ he shook his head. ‘You can’t go on forever like this.’

Her heart was pounding. ‘Ted-’

‘You don’t need to tell me everything, you don’t even need to tell me, but you can’t hold on to all of this forever. It breaks my heart to see you like this.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m trying to say I miss you, daffodil. I miss this,’ he lifted their clasped hands. ‘When you get home, most days you come in looking like a zombie. We don’t talk like we used to. We sleep in separate beds because you’re on call and you don’t want to wake me up. I always do anyway.

He paused. ‘And I know you can’t help it and I know you enjoy it, but… god I sound so selfish.’

She was relieved. She cursed herself for thinking Ted wanted a divorce. Andromeda shook her head. ‘You’re not selfish.’ 

‘What I’m trying to say is: I can’t do this without you,’ he said. He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I need you to be there for me. I can’t take care of another kid without you there, and Harry needs both of us. He needs your strength, your presence. I can’t be the only one answering his letters and giving him advice. It was hard enough with Dora. But a saviour of the wizarding world?’

Andromeda bowed her head. She took her hand out of Ted’s but he took it back faster than she’d ever seen him move. 

‘Please.’ In that moment she saw the scared fifth year boy asking why she distanced herself from him. Why he had lost her love when the past year had been so  _ wonderful _ .

She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘I was afraid. I didn’t understand it- understand her. I was scared that she would end up like me.’

‘She did. She’s tough, she’s stubborn as all hell. She’s a rebel, though a bit more showy than you are. She’s your daughter, through and through.’

Andromeda loved her daughter. Perhaps she could also understand her if she had taken the time to. If she had been there for her. She thought of her mother, of the posturing and lectures and shuddered. She had been exactly like that regardless of her best efforts. 

‘I was afraid I’d be like my mother to her. That I’d mould her into something she wasn’t out of some inculcated conditioning. I’m still afraid of that. I always will be. I don’t want that for Harry either.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m sorry, Ted,’ she said. Andromeda threw her arms around Ted, another dam breaking, another wound widening. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to be happy,’ Ted paused again, then continued. ‘I want you to do something that makes you happy and doesn’t turn you into a husk.’

He meant anything but surgery. ‘What else could I do, Ted? I can’t do flowers.’

‘There are other ways to help people,’ he said, gesturing vaguely. ‘You have a potions lab. Maybe you could take commissions, be a test brewer. Brew Wolfsbane or find a cheaper method of making it. You could help people, be home some of the time, be elsewhere other days. It’ll be more balanced’

‘I don’t have those qualifications.’

‘You have the skill, Andromeda,’ Ted said, wiping away her tears with his thumb. ‘We can always get you the qualifications. You’d have to resit your NEWTs but if it’s anything like the first time they will be a breeze.’

Andromeda knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later. She knew Silas Flint was right, that she needed a holiday before she fell apart. Unfortunately, she already had. 

Ted was right.

‘I need a change,’ she croaked. Ted smiled sadly. 

Silas Flint had almost looked relieved to see her notice. Yes, he was sad to see her go, but knew as well as she did that it was for the best. Nurse Griselda had unfortunately caught wind of it and Andromeda regretted not slipping poison into the old crone’s pound cake. 

She had been consigned to desk duty, transferring her active cases to the other surgeons on the ward and recommending her residents to other hospitals or wards. Some had stopped by, giving her well-wishes or small gifts. 

By the end of the week, she had packed her office, shrunk her effects down, and placed them all inside a single black briefcase. 

It was finally over. 

A weight lifted off of her shoulders as she closed the door, the bronze plate wiping itself of her name. 

She walked through the damned kaleidoscopic hallway, through the doors, and out of St Mungo’s.

She was free. 

She had resigned back in February. Since then, she had spent several days spending time with Ted before writing the Royal Academy of Magic as well as Severus Snape. She was not far away from sitting her Potions NEWTs with this current batch of 7th years. 

Nearly two months later during Harry’s Easter holidays, Andromeda was sitting in her lab when the post bell rang signalling an owl. She quickly put a stasis charm over the brew and clomped up the rickety stairs. She swept through the house (freshly cleaned) and opened the window for a stately eagle owl. She paused as she beheld the crest around its front- a stylised letter ‘M’. 

Malfoy. 

The eagle owl offered her its leg, and she took the small scroll out of its sleeve. It waited on her, its brows furrowing in concentration.

‘Read it,’ it seemed to say.

She obliged.

_ The Malfoys cordially invite Mr Harry James Potter, Heir to the House of Potter, to their Manor in Wiltshire from August 1 to 15.  _

_ Please reply with all haste.  _

_ Narcissa Black-Malfoy _

_ Lady Malfoy _

Andromeda thought of her younger sister, who took up Andromeda’s mantle after she shamed the House, who was the perfect daughter in a seemingly perfect life. She hadn’t spoken to her in years, hadn’t had a sample of her handwriting or smelled her perfume since she was blasted off the family tree. Here she was holding it, as impersonal as the day was long yet utterly, richly... evocative. 

Little Cissa, whom Andromeda had loved so much, had finally sent an owl to her house. 

Andromeda’s progress threatened to unravel before her very eyes. She took several deep breaths. 

‘Harry!’ she called. 

It took a minute, but Harry ran down the stairs with half of his face covered in a garish layer of makeup. Oh Nymphadora.

‘Having fun are we?’ she said wryly. Harry grinned, his purple lipstick catching the light and sparkling. ‘I’ve got a letter for you.’

She handed it over and he smiled even brighter. He quickly took it upstairs.

‘Wait!’ she called after him. ‘Use a different parchment about the same size.’

He turned back and nodded, bounding up the stairs again. She looked at the owl, who simply stamped its feet impatiently.

‘Yeah, you and I both,’ she said. The owl eyed her and quickly turned around. She huffed and waited. 

Harry came down with the same exuberant speed. He handed a small scroll to her. She had no doubt that it said “Yes” in ten different forms. She smiled again and tightly rolled it, placing it in the owl’s parchment sleeve.

It fluffed its feather and had the audacity to shit on her windowsill before flying off. 

‘Evanesco,’ Andromeda muttered darkly and waved her wand. The droppings cleaned themselves. She closed the window with a bit of force, turning to make herself a glass of lemonade.

‘What a rude bird,’ Harry remarked.

‘That’s no way to speak to mum!’ Nymphadora said, coming down wearing a shaky face of garish makeup, no doubt Harry’s work. Andromeda smiled. 

‘Are you ready for later today?’ she asked, taking a sip of her beverage. 

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ll be glad to see it.’

‘Good. Now while I appreciate… this,’ she waved vaguely at their faces. ‘I’m afraid it will shock your ancestors.’

‘Let them be shocked and awed,’ Nymphadora said. Andromeda nearly gave her a cutting look before settling for a fond shake of her head. They grumbled and went back upstairs, Nymphadora once again bowling over on the third step. Andromeda winced but knew better than most that Nymphadora would be fine.

It was a good thing, Andromeda thought, that Harry had an older sibling figure. One very unlike her own. She nearly dropped her glass as she reminded herself of Bellatrix. She was so destructive, even as a young girl. Whereas Sirius had chafed against the rules, Bellatrix had always managed to weasel her way out of them. As the oldest and the one in the most secure marriage she had free reign. Free, terrible reign over her siblings. 

Andromeda knew full well that her older sister was a contributing factor in her own decision to take up Healing. She had treated victim after victim of Bellatrix’s during the war in all sorts of bad states.. Ted’s heart-to-heart had been an eye-opener. It was slowly killing her

The war against her family (well, against Narcissa) would never end until someone took the first step.

It was up to Andromeda to do so, but she’d have to wait for that; showing Harry his family estate as promised was her first priority.

Harry came down the stairs makeup free along with Ted and Nymphadora. As Nymphadora turned to gather around the fireplace, Andromeda stepped out of the kitchen.

‘Nymphadora, would you come in for a second?’ she said. She gave Ted a look. Nymphadora shrugged.

‘C’mon Harry, let’s put away the tools,’ Ted said quickly. Harry looked bemused as Ted guided him out the back. ‘We don’t want the grabbush to, well, grab them.’ Andromeda shot Ted a grateful smile and stood awkwardly in the kitchen with her daughter. The door closed behind Ted.

Nymphadora spoke first, her hair turning a shade of grey. ‘Mum, if you’re mad about the makeup, I really-’

‘Mad? Why would I be mad about that? Did Harry enjoy it?’

‘Oh!’ she said. Her hair flared a deep pink. She wasn’t expecting that response. ‘Uh… yeah, he did. He was a little weirded out at first but then we made it a game. Had a few laughs. He did mine, as you could tell… what’s this about?’

Andromeda sighed. She had to “psych” herself up to it, as Ted would say. ‘You know I resigned a few months ago.’

Her hair turned violet. ‘Yeah? Dad told me. I’ve seen you with NEWTs books. I’m really proud of you, Mum.’ Now yellow.

Andromeda shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t be.’ She put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘This is really hard for me, but…’ she sighed. 

‘I’m sorry I was never there for you when you needed me. I’m sorry I don’t really know your friends at Hogwarts. I’m sorry I let my work ruin our relationship. 

‘Mum, I-’

‘I was wondering whether you’d like to do something. Go shopping or… I don’t know.’

Nymphadora blanched. ‘Shopping? Mum, I don’t  _ like  _ shopping. Unless it’s for records, then I’m all for it.’

‘I like records,’ Andromeda said. ‘I do want to do  _ something  _ with you, though. I want to try and make it up to you, if that’s alright.’

‘You don’t have to do anything. I forgive you. After all, you’re my mum. You’re stuck with me until the trolls dance.’

Slowly, awkwardly, Andromeda swept Nymphadora into a hug, more for herself than her daughter. She felt so relieved. She hadn’t turned out to be like her mother at all. Nymphadora stiffened a little, but reciprocated.

‘On second thought, there is one thing,’ she said as they broke apart. ‘ _ Please  _ stop calling me Nymphadora. I’m not a Nymphadora. I never have been a Nymphadora.’ She looked imploringly, actively enlarging her eyes to the size of golf balls. It would have been funny had Andromeda not been taken by surprise. 

‘What would you like me to call you?’ asked Andromeda.

‘Dee.’

Andromeda was confused. ‘Like the letter?’

‘No, like John Dee the astrologer. I like it, it’s easy for paperwork, and it’s… me.’ she shrugged. Her eyes normalised, but her hair stayed a little blue-blonde.

‘Dee. D-E-E,’ Andromeda said. She deliberated for a moment, finding no place to object. She nodded. ‘Alright.’

She smiled. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘No problem… Dee. Oh, while we’re on the subject, do you know what your other name could’ve been?’ Nympha-  _ Dee  _ shook her head. ‘If you didn’t like Nymphadora, you  _ really  _ wouldn’t like Marlice. That was your father’s pick.’

Dee’s hair and face briefly turned sepia-tone. ‘Merlin’s balls. Why are you two so bad at names?’

‘Watch your profanity.’

‘Mum...

‘Everything else seemed too common. We certainly didn’t want to call you Anne.’

Dee wrinkled her nose. ‘I am  _ not  _ an Anne.’

Andromeda hummed in agreement. 

The back door closed. ‘Are you two done plotting in there?’ Ted called.

‘Never!’ Dee called back. 

‘Does Harry know?’ asked Andromeda.

‘Yeah. I told him a few days ago. Sorry. I thought you were busy.’

‘Not too busy anymore,’ Andromeda said. Dee smiled and left. After a moment, Andromeda reciprocated with her own sad, wistful smile. 

She had nothing to be afraid of. 

What was clear was that Claymer Park was still in ruin. 

They had taken a special portkey courtesy of the Department of Wizengamot Services and ended up standing before the melted gates of a once grand estate in Stinchcombe. Andromeda never had cause to visit the Potters, yet she had heard what had once happened here. 

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fell upon Claymer Park shortly after the wedding of James and Lily Potter. Though many guests had fled successfully, many did not. 

Amongst the dead had been James’ cousins, aunts, uncles, and his parents. 

And no one heard from the surviving Potters since that day, not until they were already dead. 

It was chilling to see it. Much of the house had burned, and what was left was overgrown. Thankfully, the Ministry had cracked down on the looting of the remaining husk and returned them to the family (according to Dumbledore), though certainly some of the more inconspicuous pieces had been pilfered between now and then. Ted waved to the Auror sitting in front of the gate who looked bored out of her mind. She looked at their identification and nodded before slumping back into her seat.

‘Shall we?’ Ted murmured. 

Harry tentatively stepped forward, touched the gate, and the two halves swung open before one of the melted doors fell out of its frame with a resounding  _ thunk _ . Dee put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and they walked in front while Andromeda trailed behind.

It was a three-storey manse built in the Tudor style, with red brick and a lot of chimneys. The roof had partially collapsed and thick curling vines wound its way up and through one of the octagonal towers. Half the windows were blown out, and a retaining wall into an overgrown garden was all but rubble. Andromeda pointed out things to Harry, who seemed to be taking it all in with a sort of sad curiosity. 

They ambled up the cracked stairs to a wide pair of double doors flanked on either side by alchemists’ jugs. Harry opened the once elaborately carved wooden doors into a wide hall. The screech of rusted hinges disturbed a flock of pigeons who soared into the rafters of the space. 

The hall was wider than it was long, with once-varnished mahogany floors and cracking wainscoting. The walls bulged, with the plaster coming off in broad chunks and little moldy flakes in places. Like in Malfoy Manor, there was a sweeping staircase that led to the second floor though it was much less ostentatious. The remains of a simple iron chandelier lay bent and rusted in the centre of the floor, its chain and bearing swirled around it like a large dead snake. 

Harry took it all in, stepping forward with his hands behind his back like he was on a field trip to an art museum and not surveying the ruins of his family home. 

‘It’s very similar to Malfoy Manor,’ he finally said. ‘A bit smaller, more… homey?’

Andromeda nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Oh look here!’ Dee called. They came towards her and found a large Potter crest fallen to the floor. She waved her wand and set it to rights. Ted knelt and felt it.

‘It’s hand forged. Lots of care went into it.’

‘As with all wizard homes,’ Andromeda agreed. Harry paused to look at it before he saw a doorway leading into a darkened hall. 

‘Wait for us,’ Ted warned. He picked himself up and lit his wand to go with Harry. 

‘Did you live in something like this?’

‘It was different,’ Andromeda said. ‘A lot more crown moulding for one, more marble too.’

Probably a lot less idyllic to live in, from what she heard of James Potter’s childhood. 

‘It reminds me of the Three Broomsticks,’ Dee said. ‘Wood paneling, iron fixtures. A nice aesthetic, I guess.’

Andromeda laughed. ‘I see what you mean.’

They followed Ted and Harry into the adjacent hall. There were smashed picture frames and the walls were stone bricks as opposed to timber and plaster. 

‘This would be the portrait gallery,’ Andromeda said. ‘Most of the paintings are in the house vault.’

‘My father’s portrait?’

‘Probably there.’

‘Can I see it?’

Ted shrugged. ‘One more thing to ask Dumbledore. He probably has to finagle with the goblins.’

Harry nodded. He went through the hall with Ted mindful of the broken glass and wood scattered about to another door which he opened with a slight push.

This room was a library that went up into the third storey. It was mostly untouched, barring a blown out stained glass bay window and some scorch marks towards the entrance hall. Tall wooden bookshelves stood like silent sentinels and wrapped around three-quarters of the room. There were scattered pages everywhere, a thick Persian rug that covered much of the floor, and a large bronze orrery that sat under the bay window. Dee inspected a lectern while Ted braved one of the spiral staircases to the second floor. 

Harry continued to walk around, looking at the empty display cases and the large devices scattered throughout, too heavy to be lifted in a Muggle fashion and no doubt enchanted against levitation charms.

‘Everyone ready? I’m not sure how much of the house is safe to be in.’

Harry nodded and they went back into the entrance hall. 

‘I think I want to rebuild it,’ said Harry.

‘It would be very expensive,’ Ted said, looking around. ‘The masonry alone would cost-’

Dee rolled her eyes ‘Oh come on, Dad. Harry’s got more gold than stuck-up hairs. It just needs a little love.’

A small beam snapped free from the ceiling and fell into a pile of dust not far from them.

Ted coughed. ‘You were saying?’

Andromeda turned to Harry. ‘We’ll ask Dumbledore for you, alright?’ He nodded.

She understood the impulse he had, even if she didn’t often share in it herself. A warlock’s family home was something sacred, something worth putting effort into, and the ancestral home, kept in generations, was near sacrosanct. It was why it was so shocking to hear that Claymer had been ruined. It was as if the Death Eaters had attacked the very soul of House Potter. 

‘C’mon you all. I don’t think it’s very safe to be in here for long.’

They made their way outside of Claymer House. When Dee crossed the threshold (barely missing the door lintel), the door swung shut behind them all and locked.

Ted glanced at Dee. ‘Did you close it?’

Dee’s hair tinged grey. She was a little frightened. ‘Uh, no.’

‘Harry, did you?’

Harry looked down at his hand, at the ring he’d brought along, and back at the door. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Stranger things have happened,’ Andromeda drawled.

‘How do you feel?’ Andromeda asked. She was sitting across from Harry, the couch between them empty. It was their usual spot. 

Harry shrugged. ‘I didn’t know my dad grew up in such a big house. I mean yeah we didn’t see all of it, and I knew they left me a bit of money, and that I’m a… well, a lord - which still blows my mind - and it’s just kind of…’

‘Overwhelming?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No. Not really.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Harry, I won’t get mad,’ Andromeda said gently. ‘Ted and I both want you to know about your parents, about what they left you. Ted’s writing a letter to Dumbledore now.’

‘Just finished, actually!’ Ted boomed. He walked over and sat on the couch, spreading out like he liked.

Andromeda gave him a sharp glare. ‘Ted, we’re-’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Harry interjected.

‘What’s wrong?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘We’re a team, Harry. We won’t tell anyone.’

Harry huffed and relaxed a fraction. ‘Alright. I feel like I don’t know my parents at all. You two are great, but…’

‘We understand,’ Andromeda said with a smile. ‘That is perfectly natural, Harry.’

‘I agree. Don’t worry about it. No one could replace your parents, not even Andromeda and I. While we’re on that subject, I’ll tell you about my dad-’

‘-Ted-’

‘-Oh come on, it’s quick.’ He refocused on Harry. ‘My dad was a spy during the war. All that time growing up I thought he was a shoe salesman. Mum only told me after he’d gone.’

Andromeda sighed. ‘I don’t think that’s quite the same, dear.’

Ted shrugged and smiled at Harry. ‘Maybe, but it’s a cracking good story. Could you imagine Gordon playing baccarat, gathering secrets, drinking martinis?’

‘What?’ Harry said. Ted gaped for a moment.

‘Oh we have  _ got  _ to watch James Bond now. It’s a classic.’

‘He’s a bit young for James Bond, don’t you think?’ Andromeda asked dryly.

‘Fine. The wet blanket speaks,’ Ted said. Harry chuckled. Ted leaned forward. ‘That’s all to say, Harry, that no one ever knows the entire story about their parents, especially if they weren’t around to tell it or kept mum about it all. 

‘Andromeda and I didn’t know your folks. As it happens, we know some people who do and who can help you gain a better image.’ 

‘I only know my aunt,’ Harry said. ‘Professor McGonagall taught them, and so did Professor Sprout.’

‘What about their best friends?’ asked Ted. 

‘Ted!’ Andromeda exclaimed. This was neither the time nor the place for it. Harry had just seen his father’s old house, the house his grandparents, aunts, and other relatives died in. 

‘What?’ asked Ted mildly. ‘He’s innocent. We both know that.’

‘Who?’

Andromeda sighed. ‘Ted wants to introduce you to my cousin.’

Harry looked down, no doubt scrounging for a name. ‘Your cousin… Sirius Black?’

‘The very same,’ Andromeda said faintly. She hadn’t thought about Sirius in  _ years _ . 

‘Well what’s the matter?’

‘Yes, what is the-’

‘Shush,’ Andromeda said to Ted. She whipped around to Harry and relaxed a fraction. ‘Harry, it’s a bit more delicate than you may realize. I didn’t want to bring it up, really, but I guess I have to now. Thanks Ted.’

Ted leaned back comfortably into the couch. ‘All for accountability and transparency, me.’

‘What are you two talking about?’

‘Sirius was your dad’s best friend in school,’ Ted explained. ‘Back during the war, Sirius was accused of defecting to the Death Eaters, betraying your parents to You-Know-Who, and murdering one of his other best friends, Peter Pettigrew.’

‘What?’ Harry asked. Andromeda gripped the arms of her chair. 

‘That’s just it. I’ve met Sirius. He’s less likely than I am to be a Death Eater. No, it was a hit on both sides.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your father’s family was extremely wealthy’ Andromeda said. ‘Marrying your mother, calling for integration with Muggle society, your father as Lord was also a rebel. It’s… why they think the Death Eaters destroyed Claymer, why You-Know-Who targeted your dad and your family. Less wealth for the other side, fewer people standing against him.’

‘Sirius though, that was character assassination,’ Ted continued. ‘A sort of tit for tat. Andromeda’s family were some of the worst of the worst purebloods imaginable. Her aunt decapitated house elves when they became too old instead of releasing them.’

Andromeda stiffened at his mention of Aunt Walburga. 

‘He didn’t believe any of it, did he?’ Harry asked, his green eyes boring into Andromeda’s. She looked away.

‘Of course not,’ she said. 

‘But people were out for blood,’ Ted said. ‘At the time, if you didn’t think he killed Pettigrew, you thought he was a Death Eater anyway. Very few people think he was completely innocent.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘They tried to sentence him to Azkaban, but there wasn’t enough evidence for either crime.’

My grandfather even threw his weight behind his heir to save him from the Dementors, Andromeda thought. One of the few admirable things Arcturus Black ever did. 

‘Sirius’ reputation was ruined though,’ Ted continued. ‘So he left for the continent after the trial.’

‘How are you going to get in touch with him?

‘If we found Sirius, would you want to talk to him?’ Andromeda asked, finally looking away from the landscape on the wall. 

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah. He is innocent, isn’t he?’

‘Without a doubt,’ said Ted. Andromeda clasped her hands over her lap. It wasn’t that she thought Sirius was guilty, she just didn’t want to speak on the topic any more than she strictly had to. She was glad that Harry was giving Sirius a chance when he would have so many reasons not to, most to do with Sirius’ sordid reputation.

‘Yeah. I’d like to.’

‘Thank god I didn’t send that letter then,’ Ted mumbled. He stood and stumbled over the end table. Andromeda winced, but he waved her off. Harry excused himself shortly after, looking pensive. She smiled and relaxed in her chair as she heard Harry’s door close, heard Ted making an addition to his letter to Dumbledore.

She glanced over at the mantlepiece, looking at the photos of her children, one with black hair, the other technicolour. 

Andromeda felt at ease. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hopefully y'all are all doing well. Only one chapter left until this is wrapped up, which is very exciting!  
> Leave a comment and all that jazz if you'd like.


	18. The Purple Turban

Harry had been back to Hogwarts for a week, yet his visit to Claymer Park still stuck in his mind. He really did want to rebuild it. He was sure he could have a garden there. He had taken a peek of a large, overgrown one in a sort of courtyard near the library. In the back of his mind, he knew it was where his grandparents had been murdered but it was also his dad’s childhood home. It meant something to wizards like Andromeda and Draco who had grown up in the world that Harry just occupied by accident. It meant something to him- a connection to his family beyond a cloak and a ring. 

Harry looked up at the board. Quirrell seemed to be a lot thinner than he had been three weeks ago. A nearly unseeable tremor raced up Quirrell’s arm and through his fingers as he wrote down one of the final lectures of the course: poltergeists. Harry had had a headache since he got back to Hogwarts. It was nothing he wasn’t used to if he forgot to drink water.

As Harry sat here though, he recognised the headache for what it was. His scar was aching. 

He knew what he had to do, he just couldn’t do it yet. Not while Quirrell was so close by. So he sat with his head on the desk.

‘Go to the hospital wing, Potter,’ Draco whispered urgently. ‘You’re worrying me.’

‘You?’ Harry laughed weakly. ‘The unflappable Draco Malfoy?’

‘Oh come on. You know what _they_ said.’

‘I know-’

Quirrell cut in, stepping away from his lectern. ‘Boys? Anything you wish to share?’

‘Yes,’ Draco smiled brilliantly. ‘I was informing Harry that there used to be a poltergeist here. At Hogwarts. My father spoke of its mischief often.’

Quirrell seemed to accept that.‘Yes. P-p-peeves was a menace.’

Harry blinked. He was always impressed by Draco’s ability to lie through his teeth. ‘Why did he leave?’

‘Maybe he found a more c-chaotic environment, heh,’ Quirrell wrung his hands. ‘Pay att-t-t-tention if you please.’

‘Yes sir,’ Draco said. Quirrell went back to the lectern. Draco smirked triumphantly at Harry, who thunked his head against the desk to avoid looking at Quirrell.

Pansy, Draco, and Harry walked out of Quirrell’s classroom. They hadn’t said anything further to Harry, but Pansy and Draco both shot him concerned looks as if they expected him to suddenly burst into flames. There were footsteps racing towards them. Harry turned around. Hermione stopped, clearly out of breath. 

‘Harry!’ she exclaimed. ‘Pansy!’

‘Hello, Hermione,’ Pansy greeted.

‘Would you two come to the library later on? I’ve found a book on vampires for our exam.’

‘What am I, chopped liver?’ Draco muttered.

Harry turned to reply to Draco before nearly collapsing in the hallway. Pansy and Hermione both righted him. 

‘That’s it,’ Draco said. ‘We’re going to the Hospital Wing even if I have to put you into a full body bind.’

‘Okay,’ said Harry weakly. He wasn’t in any mood to argue now. They frog-marched him towards the hospital wing. 

‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Hermione. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘She doesn’t need to know,’ Draco said to Pansy. Hermione glared at him. 

‘My scar’s hurting, that’s all.’

‘Come on, Potter,’ Draco said, pulling him along. ‘Come on Granger… I suppose.’

‘What does it mean?’ asked Hermione as she followed them down the hallway. ‘I haven’t researched much into curse scars-’

‘Whatever magic Quirrell’s using- Voldemort’s magic, it’s stronger,’ said Harry. 

‘Wait just a minute, ‘ Draco shot in front of Harry. ‘The Flamels said to go to Dumbledore if it worsened _at all_ and you’re telling me it’s been hurting since _last week_?!’

‘Not like this!’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought it was because I was dehydrated.’

‘ _Are_ you dehydrated?’ Hermione said. 

‘No, Mother Constance, he isn’t,’ Draco spat.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Harry.

‘Fairy tale. Like Mother Goose,’ Hermione replied. ‘I-’

‘Stop it, both of you,’ Pansy said. ‘Not here.’

Hermione pointed to a classroom. She placed her ear against the door. They filed into the abandoned classroom with Pansy closing the door behind them. 

‘Go on, Harry,’ Pansy said. 

Harry fiddled with his hands as everyone focused on him, waited on him to say something. ‘I think he’s going to go after the Stone. Tonight. It’s what the Flamels said Voldemort would want above all else. If Quirrell’s connection is growing stronger-’

‘-But he looks like death warmed over,’ Pansy said. ‘Wouldn’t he look healthier with all that dark magic?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Draco replied. ‘I know plenty of dark curses that dessicate its wielder. For example-’

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘No, no. We are _not_ going into that. We have to tell Dumbledore.’

‘Harry has to. Technically none of us are supposed to know about it.’

Hermione crossed her arms. ‘Who said?’

‘Two of the most senior alchemists in the entire wizarding world, and me,’ Draco said. He puffed out his chest slightly. 

‘I don’t think I’ve even seen Dumbledore’s office,’ remarked Pansy.

‘No reason to,’ Harry replied. ‘It’s on the seventh floor.’

‘Well, let’s get to it then,’ Hermione said.

Draco stepped in front of the door. ‘Absolutely not,’ Draco said. ‘Granger, your involvement is at an end.’

‘Oh no it isn’t!’ Hermione spat. ‘I have spent far too many hours looking into this with only half the story. Neville and I have as much right as you two do.’

Pansy raised her hand. ‘Actually-’

‘Enough,’ Harry said. ‘Sweet _Merlin_. We’ll all go.’

The four of them went through the passageway to the sixth floor. As they were going up the stairs, they spotted Neville tromping up the stairs soaking wet. 

‘Neville? What happened?’

‘Macmillan caught me with a water spell.’

‘Oh, here,’ Hermione thrust her bag at Draco and rolled up her sleeves. She twisted and flicked her wand at Neville. ‘Torre tunicam et capillos.’

He grabbed the bannister as a blast of air swept out of Hermione’s wand. As it petered out, his robes were smoking slightly, and Harry smelled burnt hair.

‘Sorry, Neville,’ Hermione said sheepishly. ‘I just wanted to try that out.’

‘It’s alright,’ Neville replied. ‘On second thought, I may just take a shower.’

‘Where did you find that spell?’ asked Draco.

‘Third year charms book,’ Hermione said. He looked mildly impressed. 

‘Actually, Neville, before you go- Would you like to come to Dumbledore’s with us?’

‘It’s about The Thing,’ said Hermione. 

His eyes widened. ‘No time to waste then,’ Neville said. He surged down the stairs.

It didn’t take him long to turn around. 

With Harry taking the lead, it didn’t take them long to reach the bronze gryphon guarding the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. 

‘Any ideas about the password?’ asked Neville.

‘It was treacle tart-’ Harry waited for the gryphon to rise to open. ‘-last time. I’d guess desserts?’

The five of them threw every conceivable dessert at the gryphon, yet nothing opened the passage. Clotted cream, jam tarts, orange sorbet-

‘And what are five first years doing inside on a day like this?’ Snape cut in. Neville nearly jumped out of his skin. The potions master was walking towards them from the stairwell. ‘ You ought to be more careful. People will think you’re… up to something.’ [1]

Thankfully Draco seemed to be the quickest to answer. ‘Sir, we need to see Professor Dumbledore. It’s urgent.’

‘Urgent?’ Snape said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Mr Malfoy, you of all Slytherins should remember our Rules-’

‘This is _very_ urgent,’ affirmed Hermione.

‘What is it?’

‘We can’t really say, Professor,’ Pansy chimed in. ‘The people involved-’

Snape scowled. ‘I am quite sure-’

‘We can’t,’ said Harry. 

‘Enough,’ Snape said. They fell silent. ‘I am afraid if you do not wish to tell me what it is, you will not receive timely satisfaction. Professor Dumbledore is away. Unlike your last escapade-’

‘When will he be back?’

‘He will not return until tomorrow morning,’ Snape said. ‘Now, Messers Potter and Malfoy, Ms Parkinson, you are breaking two of our Rules at this moment. I suggest you be off to lunch before I am required to take points from you.’

‘Oh, yes, right. Thank you Professor; the thought of lunch had slipped my mind. Come on, Potter,’ Draco said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. 

‘Draco,’ Harry said. They were on the fourth floor now. ‘My hand is getting rather sweaty.’

Draco flushed and letting go of Harry’s hand. ‘Sorry.’

Neville paused and buried his face in his hands. ‘I should’ve remembered!’ he exclaimed. 

‘What?’ asked Hermione.

‘The Wizengamot!’ Neville said. ‘Dumbledore’s Chief Warlock. He’s supposed to open it today.’

Pansy slapped her forehead and mumbled to herself, Draco turned to face the portraits on the opposite wall. They all had forgotten.

‘On a _Tuesday?_ ’ asked Harry. He thought wizards would at least open something on a more normal day, like Monday or Sunday even. 

Draco groaned. ‘On _Beltane_. The halfway mark between the spring and summer. It’s-’ he paused. ‘Right.’

‘Don’t you see?’ Neville said. ‘It’s the perfect time for him to get the…’ He swallowed. ‘Well, you know.’

‘So what do we do?’ Pansy asked. 

‘We steal it first,’ Harry said. Neville blanched.

Draco turned on his heel, facing Harry. ‘What? Are you _mad?_ ’ he cried. Draco was suddenly bumped into. Harry turned. 

‘Clear a path for us, kiddies,’ a Gryffindor with red hair said. He seemed to be lugging a large smoking cauldron with someone who looked exactly like him, except for some slight- The Weasley twins. They were legendary pranksters, apparently. 

‘Yes, children,’ The other nodded sagely. ‘Wouldn’t want any of this on you. No sirs.’

‘Or madams.’

‘Oh, them too.’ The second said. ‘Good thinking. Might as well say friends, wouldn’t want to assume, you know.’

‘I was always the better thinker-’

‘-not looker though.’

The first bowed backward, nearly sloshing the cauldron onto Draco. ‘You _wound_ me.’ He broke out of his pose and looked at them. ‘Anyhow, would you mind?’

‘Of course not,’ Harry said. He quickly made a path for them.

‘Thank you, Potter,’ the second said with a grin. ‘Damn decent of you.’

‘Yes, capital,’ the other replied. ‘Good day, gentlefolks!’

‘Uh, bye?’ Harry said. 

The two of them briefly waved, lugging off the cauldron. The five of them went the opposite way. Even Harry knew that getting near whatever was in that cauldron was not worth a faster way to lunch if the twins happened to drop it. 

‘Should we tell someone?’ Hermione whispered.

‘You know I think sometimes it’s best if we keep our interference to what we can handle,’ Pansy said. They watched the twins giggling to themselves as they went towards the second floor. 

‘Speaking of handling,’ Draco drawled, ‘Six, well, _five_ master warlocks created those defenses around the object, if you don’t include Hagrid’s beast. There’s no way we’re getting past them.’

Harry sighed. ‘What else are we supposed to do?’ he asked. ‘Let him get it?’

‘He’s barely a master of _speaking_ , much less magic,’ Draco retorted. ‘There’s no way he’s getting it.’

‘That’s rude,’ Hermione muttered.

‘He’s an evil wizard and you’re concerned about me criticising his stammer?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione said, raising her chin. ‘Just because he’s evil doesn’t mean we lose all standards.’

‘Bloody Hufflepuffs…’ Draco murmured.

‘We could tell another Professor,’ said Neville. 

‘We’re not supposed to know about the Stone,’ replied Pansy. 

‘We were all were going to Dumbledore like ten minutes ago,’ Hermione pointed out. ‘What happened to that idea?’

‘Find us afterwards,’ Pansy said. ‘We can’t talk about it here. Again.’

If Harry had learned anything, one couldn’t discuss saving a powerful magic object on the staircase or in a corridor. The first would make you vulnerable to getting sloshed on by a vile potion and the second would lead you into an encounter with a confusing Death Eater who may or may not be involved with the plot to steal said object. The rule was very specific, but he’d work out the exact details later on. 

The five of them met after a quick lunch in an abandoned classroom on the second floor. Draco was standing at a blackboard while the rest of them sat in chairs around him. 

‘Each professor would have done something according to their subject, so we should account for that,’ Draco said, pointing at the list they had made. ‘Harry’s the best at Defense and Transfiguration. Pansy’s good at Charms. Granger’s passable at Potions, I suppose.’

Hermione scowled. ‘Honestly.’

‘Let it go, Hermione,’ Harry murmured. Hermione gave him a death glare.

‘Why don’t you go?’ Hermione asked Draco. 

Draco pointed at himself. ‘Me? I can’t! Too much depends on my good reputation.’

‘Alright,’ Harry said. ‘Raise your hand if you couldn’t give a toss about your reputation.’ Harry and Hermione raised their hands. Neville shifted in his chair. 

‘Come on, we need a third,’ said Harry to Neville. ‘Hermione and I can’t do it alone.’

Neville shook his head. ‘I’d be breaking so many rules-’

‘Neville, this is the greater good,’ Hermione said, ‘I wish I didn’t have to either.’

‘My gran would kill me if I got injured,’ Neville whispered. ‘Again.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Pansy said. ‘There’s no way Draco’s parents would be alright with him doing this.’

‘What about your reputation?’ Draco asked desperately.

‘It’s my concern,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

Harry smiled. ‘Thanks, Pansy.’

‘So… when?’ asked Hermione. 

‘As soon as we get Harry’s fabulous cloak,’ Pansy said.

Neville swallowed a lump. ‘G-good luck, you three. Sorry.’

Harry smiled. ‘Thank you, Neville.’

‘Don’t I get thanked too?’

Harry laughed flippantly. Draco made a noise of protest. ‘Right, meet you here in twenty minutes.’

Hermione nodded solemnly, and the group dispersed. 

The three of them, Harry, Pansy, and Hermione, met at the stairwell near the third floor corridor. When the coast was clear, they threw on Harry’s invisibility cloak and tip-toed to Fluffy’s door, dipping past Percy Weasley who was reading a book in the middle of the hallway. 

Hermione’s shoes crunched against a bit of glass. 

Pansy hissed. They stopped. 

Percy stood from his rickety chair and looked around. 

Harry held his breath as the Ravenclaw moved right past them. 

He muttered to himself and sat back down. Hermione let out a quiet sigh. 

Pansy brandished her wand and whispered a charm. A large explosion boomed near the corridor entrance. Weasley quickly put down his book and stormed out. 

Hermione quickly unlocked the door to Fluffy’s chamber and went inside.

‘Sweet Merlin,’ Pansy whispered. 

‘How long?’

Hermione cast another silencing charm and locked the door again. ‘A few seconds at most,’ she said.

The three wobbling heads of Fluffy peered down at them, growling. It stood up. 

‘Music, Harry, music,’ Pansy said quickly. Harry snapped out of his daze and stuffed the Cloak in his pocket. 

He began to sing the first song that popped into his head, with Pansy humming haltingly alongside him. It was a Queen song that he liked to listen to with Dora. 

Slowly, Fluffy’s six eyes began to droop. Harry continued, stepping towards the beast as its paw curled away from the trapdoor. Pansy opened it. She looked to Hermione.

‘Go!’ she hissed. 

Pansy looked down again and took a quick fortifying breath before jumping down into the inky pit. Hermione followed after, then Harry.

Harry gripped the edge by his fingertips, getting one hand on the door to swing it closed behind them. He could hear Fluffy begin to wake up again. And Harry let go.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and – FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant. 

He looked up, noticing that the trapdoor had closed shut above them, and that there was a thin ladder back to the top. 

‘Harry, don’t squirm,’ a voice- Hermione said. A thick black tendril had coursed around her chest. 

What? Why? Oh!’ Harry said, noticing that his arm was pinned by the stuff. He felt another wrap around his throat. 

‘It’s Devil’s Snare. I- I can’t remember how to kill it. Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare ... What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp –’

‘So light a fire!’ Harry choked.

‘Yes – of course – but there’s no wood!’ Hermione cried, wringing her hands. 

‘HAVE YOU GONE MAD?’ Pansy bellowed. ‘ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?’

‘Oh, right!’ said Hermione. She whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames Draco used for his lamp at the plant. 

In a matter of seconds, the two Slytherins felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unravelled itself from their bodies and they were able to pull free. [2]

They dropped a few feet below, noticing the thick vines curling back upwards to form a barrier.

‘Honestly- no wood?!’ Pansy shouted. 

‘Well I can’t be the only one to have panicked,’ said Hermione. They heard a muffled cry as something hit the membrane of Devil’s Snare above them. Harry looked upward. 

‘Hermione, do it again!’ he cried. 

‘What if it’s Quirrell?’ said Hermione. 

‘We can take him,’ said Pansy, taking out her wand.

Hermione grimaced but performed the charm anyway. The vines creeped away and it wasn’t Quirrell that come out with a _thump_. 

Pale hair.

Fairly unrumpled robes.

‘Draco?!’ Pansy shrieked. The blond stood up.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Harry. He was very glad to see him.

‘What?’ he said, sniffing. ‘Stay behind and miss out on the heist of the century? I ask you.’

‘What about your reputation?’ Pansy asked. 

‘Some things are more important,’ he said. Harry hugged him. 

‘We have to move,’ Hermione reminded them. Draco and Harry broke apart. She stomped down a dim passageway, with three Slytherins following her. 

‘How did you manage it?’ Harry asked Draco. 

‘Longbottom babbled to Weasley about Peeves being back in the Portrait Gallery,’ Draco said, chuckling. ‘He told me to go find Farley. The fool.’

That was clever,’ said Pansy.

‘It was Longbottom’s idea,’ Draco said. He scowled as if he really wished he could take credit for it. Harry couldn’t sympathise. 

Hermione stopped before a set of large oak doors. With Harry and Pansy’s help, she pushed it forwards. Inside was a long hallway. As the door opened, sconces on the walls erupted in blue flame, illuminating a large square filled with statues. 

‘It’s chess.’

‘So what, we have to play to get across?’

‘C’mon, Parkinson, let’s show them how it’s done.’

‘Wait, Draco, we have to play as pieces. See? There’s a king missing.’

‘Harry take the king. Er, do we all have to?’

A statue turned and nodded to them. Hermione gulped. Harry stood in the back middle. Three other black pieces shuffled off as they took their positions. 

The chess match was ferocious. Not only because it was fast paced but like all wizard chess games, the pieces attacked each other. Big chunks of marble flew everywhere as piece after piece was whittled away from both sides. Hermione moved forward and tapped a rook, causing it to explode into a fine powder that coasted to the side and reformed. She shuddered.

It took a while, but at long last they had won. Draco had made the final move, bowing in front of the white king. The statue dropped its sword and the next door opened. Hermione and Harry applauded as Pansy and Draco took deep bows. 

They came forward and looked around the next room. It was a round chamber with an intricate mosaic pattern on the floor. In the center was a small piano with two rows of keys and a bench with a faded green cushion.

‘This must be Flitwick’s challenge,’ Hermione observed. 

‘Anyone know how to play piano?’ Harry asked. Pansy and Hermione shook their heads.

‘It’s not a piano, it’s a harpsichord,’ Draco said. ‘And yes, I do.’

They all took a closer look at it, searching it for clues. Draco stood back, looking at it.

‘No, something’s wrong,’ he said. ‘Stand back.’

He came forward, looking at it. He picked up the bench and put it back down, and ran his hands over the top. He shook his head.

‘So simple,’ Draco remarked. He opened the lid, a small wooden arm keeping it open. A swirl of colour shot out and solidified into bars and dots above Draco’s head. It was lovely. There were thin lines of electricity in pale lilacs, vibrant greens, subdued yellows. 

‘What does it mean?’ Hermione said. She squinted at it.

‘It’s _music_ ,’ Draco said. ‘Merlin, Granger-’

‘Stop it,’ Harry sighed.

‘Just play the thing,’ Pansy snapped. Draco turned towards the keys. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Draco began to play. It was a light melody that he sank into until there seemed to be nothing but him and the instrument. The notes flew by, the harpsichord _tings_ tinny yet full under Draco’s fingers. 

He looked utterly relaxed. 

It was beautiful. 

Harry’s head whipped around as he heard the crunch, something like gravel shifting under a van’s wheels. A small door grew at one side of the room, enlarging as Draco came to the end of the song. When Draco finally stopped, the door swung open into the next chamber. 

Hermione and Pansy clapped softly, and Harry smiled.

‘Let’s press on,’ Draco said, putting the lid down again. He got off the bench and didn’t acknowledge them.

The next room was a smaller chamber. The walls were lined with dusty mirrors and crumbling stone statues. Harry could see many of them looked like knights frozen in battle. An intricate stone door was at the other end and at its center was a small plaque. In front of the door was a grid and nine bronze tokens that looked like they could fit into it arranged around it. 

Pansy went towards the plaque and read it aloud:

‘“Beware this beauty and her ire,

Though her form passions inspire.

She gifts all a gruesome fate,

Those that venture to her gate.

Repair her visage though take care

Of gimlet eyes and wild hair.

Do not look upon her gaze

Lest you be taken by her vile ways.’”

Draco looked around. ‘There’s no one here.’

‘How astute,’ Pansy said dryly.

Hermione picked up the tokens, ‘What are these? Puzzle pieces?’ she came up and read it again. ‘Repair her visage… We have to come up with an image using these!’

Harry picked another one up. There didn’t seem to be any distinguishing patterns, but at certain angles in the torchlight he could see the carved lines shine in different colours. 

‘We can’t get it wrong either,’ Draco said. ‘This has to be Professor Snape’s challenge. He knows more dark curses than anyone I know. There’s probably a nasty surprise.’

‘He knows how to get past it, and so does Quirrell,’ said Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Regardless, that doesn’t help us.’

Harry laid out the nine tiles. Pansy was the first to figure out that there were only really four colours while Draco recognised shapes in the tiles that created outlines of creatures. Eventually they came up with four: A harpy was depicted in coppery green, a gorgon in steely blue, a succubus in silver, and a siren in bronze.

‘Any one of these could be it.’

‘Not at the same time,’ Hermione said. ‘There has to be one.’

Harry closed his eyes. ‘Someone read it again.’ Draco did so. Harry opened his eyes and walked around the room. 

‘Visage… gaze…’ Hermione said. ‘Oh it’s so simple. Look at the statues, the mirrors.’

‘It has to be a Gorgon,’ Draco said. Hermione nodded vigorously. The three of them began working through it while Harry was focusing on the door. 

‘Hey, you three. Does this mean that Quirrell’s is next?’

The door opened and Hermione and Draco hopped up. The puzzle pieces unlinked and resumed their original place. As the entrance widened, Harry’s nose was hit with a powerful and familiar stench. 

Lumbering within the chamber was a troll. Unlike the bathroom troll however, it was twelve feet tall and wielded a club as big as the first troll had been. Harry gulped. ‘Yep’. 

‘Pansy, we’re gonna need all the help we can get,’ Hermione said.

‘Pansy?’ Draco said, turning around. ‘Oh Merlin!’

Harry looked around. Pansy was kneeling, her arm outstretched. She was frozen. He turned, forgetting the massive troll in the other room. Draco was frantically trying to shake her out of it.

‘Pansy, please.’

Harry quickly checked for a pulse. Pansy was still alive. He told Draco as much. Hermione gasped as the doors were closing in front of them. 

‘We have to go,’ Harry said.

‘But Pansy-’

‘Hermione, help me take her to the corner of the next room.’

‘But-’

‘There’s no time to argue!’ Harry yelled.

Hermione blinked before taking Pansy’s stiff body, helping Harry to drag it. 

The door closed behind them and Draco, who took Harry’s place. Thankfully, the troll hadn’t noticed them yet. Harry quickly unfurled his invisibility cloak from his pocket and threw it over Pansy. Hermione stood close to her, her wand raised. 

Draco was distraught, sneaking glances back at Pansy and crying. 

The troll was charging towards them.

Harry raised his wand, but Draco wasn’t prepared at all. 

‘Draco, if you don’t help me, we’re all going to die!’ Harry cried. 

The troll raised its club. 

Harry dove to protect Draco. 

‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ Hermione yelled. 

And just like the other troll, this one fell to its side as its club cracked against its thick skull. 

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around Draco. ‘She’s alright. She’s alive. Dumbledore can reverse it.’

Harry hadn’t expected Snape’s puzzle would paralyze someone. Why did it only work against Pansy? He rocked Draco back and forth, continuing to say Pansy was fine. The other boy slowly reciprocated and relaxed his grip. 

‘I have to stay with her,’ he said at last.

Harry smiled and helped Draco up. ‘Stay under the cloak. Hermione and I will go.’

Draco smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Harry. I’ve been a horrible friend to you. I just-’

‘Hey, Draco,’ Harry interrupted. He stared at him. ‘I, uh, can we talk _after?_ ’

Draco stilled, but nodded. Harry waved over to Hermione and they continued on. Harry glanced behind him to see Draco adjusting the cloak. They would be safe. Snape and Quirrell couldn’t attack them if they couldn’t see them, after all. 

At the end of the troll hall was yet another door, this one simple and made of wood. There was another plaque, this one written in Dumbledore’s handwriting. ‘Only one can pass,’ it read.

Harry turned to Hermione. ‘Well, this is it.’

‘Harry, if Quirrell and Snape come-’

‘Get yourselves out once he gets through here. Get McGonagall or Sprout or whoever you can find. I can stall them, surely, but I’m… I’m not sure if I can survive this. Who knows? I’ve been lucky before.’

Hermione’s lip trembled and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him. 

‘Hermione!’ 

‘Harry – you’re a great wizard, you know.’

‘I’m not as good as you,’ said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. 

‘Me!’ said Hermione. ‘Books? And cleverness? There are more important things – friendship and – oh Harry – be careful!’ [3]

Harry smiled crookedly. ‘Me? Careful? Always.’

Hermione smiled sadly and jogged back to the two invisible Slytherins. Harry turned back toward the door and took a deep breath. He opened it with a shaking hand.

The light of the troll’s chamber shone in the darkened space of a large chamber. As he stepped inside, a blue fire bloomed in niches around the room, bathing the room in cold light. At the end sat a familiar mirror. Harry closed the door, murmuring a locking charm. He knew it couldn’t keep out Snape and Quirrell, but it was the best chance he had to buy himself some time. 

He had never gotten an explanation of how the mirror worked, but he figured it showed what he really wanted. As he got closer, he saw his parents again. They smiled fondly at them, and he couldn’t help but smile back. He sighed, placing a hand against the mirror to settle himself. 

He had nearly died four times in the past few hours. First by a massive dog, then by a strangling plant, then by a mural, then a troll. He closed his eyes. He didn’t try to think about Dudley, but in this case he did. He remembered the feelings of terror. Remembered every blow, slap, knee. 

This was worse.

This was… 

Harry slowed his breathing. 

This was hard. 

And yet...

He thought of Neville curling into a ball on the practice yard, of Draco crumpling in front of the troll, Greg and Vincent shredding pieces of paper and breaking quills, of Hermione crying in the bathroom, and Pansy looking pensively out the window.

He wasn’t alone: his friends had troubles too. 

They were all just doing their best. 

He had to be strong for them, he had to win. He had to fight. 

He had to stuff it, just for now and go on; they were counting on him. When he had the stone and kept it from Quirrell and Snape, he could let himself go.

Harry looked back up and saw his reflection also smiling at him. It was kind of unnerving. Harry stood up and smoothed out his robes. Harry in the mirror patted his pocket and Draco winked at him. Harry felt a weight in his pocket. His mother’s gaze shot up, and Harry got out of the way just as a curse sailed into the Mirror, shattering it to pieces. 

Harry took out his wand and pointed it. He was shocked. There was only one figure.

‘You fool!’ a voice cried. Harry glanced around the room, expecting another person to come out of the shadows.

Quirrell stepped forward, his wand lowering. ‘Potter.’

‘But I thought – Snape –’

‘Severus?’ Quirrell laughed and it wasn’t his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. ‘Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor ststuttering P-Professor Quirrell?’ [4]

But you’re working together!’ Harry exclaimed desperately. ‘He’s a Death Eater!

‘A Death Eater?’ Quirrell said and laughed. ‘Maybe once. He’s Dumbledore’s lapdog now, through and through. Tried to stop me, tried to…’ he paused. ‘Oh but he couldn’t. The power I wield. The _influence_ I have. I snuck right under the great Albus Dumbledore’s nose.’

Harry stopped. He knew he had to keep Quirrell talking. No doubt the others were getting McGonagall, maybe even Snape. 

‘You let the troll out,’ he said. ‘You set it loose at Halloween.’

Quirrell smirked. ‘Yes. I have a particular gift with trolls, such as your friend Goyle. A shame mine didn’t kill you. I thought for sure the Bludger would too.’

Harry gritted his teeth. ‘You set the Bludger on me?’

‘Of course. I couldn’t just let you _live_. Not after all the trouble you caused, the suspicion…’

‘You… fool… He is stalling you,’ the voice called. Harry paled.

‘Wait! The mirror. Do you know how it worked?’

‘Of course I do!’ Quirrell exclaimed. ‘I have learned many things, Potter, least of which being the properties of enchanted mirrors. Now be silent.’

Quirrell waved his wand and Harry was suspended by thick black ropes tying his wrists and ankles. He struggled a bit as the professor looked at the remains of the mirror.

‘What should I do, Master?’ he asked, his voice quavering.

‘ _Master?_ ’ Harry thought. His blood chilled. There had been a third voice and no body. Voldemort _was_ here. Where?

‘...All is not yet lost,’ Voldemort said. ‘Lend me more of your strength.’

‘Master, I-’

‘Do it!’

Quirrell screamed in agony and seemed to age twenty years in a single moment. His veins flashed black, his hands turning into nothing but bone and thin skin. Quirrell’s wand clattered to the floor, as did his turban. 

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn’t make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. [5]

Voldemort was on the back of Quirrell’s head. It’s why- his scar flared. 

Harry was in agony. It hurt like it never had before. 

The face ignored Harry, and instead further instructed Quirrell. Hesitantly, the professor picked up his wand. 

Quirrell continued to scream as his wand emitted a thick haze of silver gas that engulfed the broken mirror. Harry could hear the mirror slide together. Some part of him knew that the spell restored the magic as well as the surface. It was a powerful, ancient spell well beyond Quirrell’s ability. 

The man looked back at Harry, gaunt and harried. Despite himself, Harry could feel a pang of pity.

‘He’s draining you dry, Professor,’ Harry croaked, trying to gain purchase in his bindings. 

‘Silence! You do not know what you speak, Harry Potter,’ Voldemort said. He then seemed to address Quirrell. ‘You will be rewarded... once you retrieve our prize.’

‘Y-yes, Master. I don’t know how. The mirror is whole, I’m presenting it to you… but it- it’s not here!’

‘He has it, you fool,’ Voldemort seethed. ‘Take it from him!’

Quirrell waved his wand again and Harry fell to the ground. Harry couldn’t run, but knew somehow that Quirrell was on his last legs. Harry’s eyes fluttered as a rush of pain went through him, the face then turning and providing him some relief. The professor raised his wand and-

His wand exploded. Quirrell gasped in pain.

‘You have expended the last of your feeble magics. Seize him!’

Quirrell ran towards Harry, his skeletal movements hurried and chaotic. Harry threw up his hands to block him and felt a searing heat rush out of him. 

Quirrell howled. The man’s skin blistered over, a black spirit pouring out of his eyes, ears, and mouth. 

Harry fell over in pain, his head hitting against a rock. 

‘Until… our next meeting…’ a voice, now very far away, called. 

Harry walked down the path once more to the Hearth surrounded by his friends. It had been a month since they had retrieved the Stone. Pansy had been unpetrified in short order and was chatting amicably with Hermione. Neville and Draco were smiling, and Harry was pleased to see Draco was wearing his birthday present from Harry- a snake tie pin made of silver. Neither of them, well, none of them had gotten into much trouble for going out of bounds or stealing the Stone. 

In fact, other than a quiet conference with the Flamels and Dumbledore about it, Harry hadn’t been remotely chastised. The Flamels looked knowingly at Harry, and wished him well. He knew it would be the last time he saw either of them. They looked to be at peace with their oncoming death, so really, there wasn’t much Harry could’ve done for them.

Harry seemed to be more popular than he had ever been. In Dumbledore’s own words, it had been a complete secret, so naturally, everyone knew about his confrontation with Quirrell. [6]. The fact everyone knew didn’t seem to faze Draco (Harry knew it would eventually), but Pansy was lapping up all the positive, heroic attention she and the others were getting. Even Vincent and Greg, who’d been kept out of most of it, were very pleased.

Slytherin had won the House Cup despite Draco and Nott’s blunders. The Great Hall had been festooned in silver and green, with Dumbledore passing the trophy to a smirking Professor Snape. He had apologised to Pansy for inadvertently petrifying her. Madam Pomfrey had suggested that they all see a Mind Healer, which none were too eager to do but knew that it had to be done. Neville’s had come well-recommended. 

On the whole, it was a chaotic year and one Harry knew he would never, ever forget. He had grown so much, he knew, and learned so much. Most of all…

He looked around at the small group of friends, seeing both their faces and their faces from the enchanted mirror. They were laughing, their spirits overjoyed and their postures relaxed at a job well done, a year completed. 

Despite their differences, despite the bloody House rivalries and purebloodism, the bigotry, the intrigue, the near death experiences…

Harry had, for the first time, a family he could be proud of. 

How could Petunia’s wit compare to the crushing intellect of Hermione and Draco? How could Dudley’s cruelty ever match up to the solid, sweet nature of both Vincent and Greg? How could Vernon’s showboating match up to Neville’s humility?

It couldn’t. The Dursleys could never compare. 

They paused at the Hearth, their smiles fading, their mood turned contemplative. 

‘You will write, won’t you?’ Hermione asked Pansy.

‘Of course!’ she said, and hugged Hermione. 

‘Longbottom,’ Draco said, holding out his hand. Neville looked at it hesitantly, but gave it a shake. 

Harry hugged both Vincent and Greg, who then both looked very bashful when Pansy kissed their cheeks. They were the first to leave, promising that they’d write and visit Draco and see them all before the next term. 

Neville followed, telling Harry he’d be writing to him about their planned joint birthday party. 

It was Pansy’s turn, and she nearly cried as she hugged Harry, telling him to please keep in touch and to ask Dee for a record player for her. 

Hermione paused as she regarded Draco thoughtfully. Draco sniffed and held out a hand, but Hermione hugged him, then Harry all the same. She left. 

Then it was just Draco and Harry. Harry smiled, and slowly, Draco reciprocated. His eyes were shining, his shoulders suddenly tense. 

‘You’ll be alright,’ Harry said, reassuring him. Draco had been a bit touchy about his parents knowing he’d broken the rules. They hadn’t sent a Howler, but apparently the letter they had sent was worse. 

‘Maybe,’ Draco said with a shrug. 

Harry shook his head. ‘No, you will.’

‘Saint Potter,’ Draco drawled. Harry’s smile widened at the nickname. ‘He always gets what he wants.’

Harry’s smile softened. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Harry opened his arms and Draco fell in. Harry thought of iridescent notes, smelled sandalwood and lemongrass. Harry hugged Draco fiercely, so proud of him, so happy that he could call him his friend, so sad he had to let him go. He couldn’t wait until he could go back to the Manor to see him. 

‘I’ll see you soon,’ Harry murmured, and Draco nodded. Harry let out a slow breath and let go of Draco.

‘15 Clay Lane, Lavenham,’ Harry said as he stepped into the Hearth. He was engulfed in a green flame. He waved to Draco. 

The hearths spun around. Harry closed his eyes. As it slowed, he stuck a foot out. He opened his eyes and was caught by three pairs of hands. He smiled as he was hugged by Andromeda, Ted, and Dee.

‘Welcome back, son!’ Ted boomed as he clapped Harry’s back, smiling.

‘Good to be back,’ Harry replied. 

‘Shame we can’t unpack you now,’ Dee said. ‘They’ll be sending them on soon, though.’

‘Why did you bring that up?’ asked Andromeda, looking curiously at Dee.

She looked scandalised. ‘I love unpacking, thank you!’

Andromeda raised her hands in surrender. ‘Of course, dear, of course.’

‘C’mon, Harry, we’ve got tea on.’

Harry was stirring his tea lazily, looking impassively at his chocolate-covered biscuits. He had come to a decision, but was hesitant to share. He didn’t know how they would react, how he should feel. He’d been thinking about it for months now, ever since Christmas. Now though, it seemed like the time. 

‘Harry?’ Andromeda asked. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘I… No. I’m fine. Great.’

‘Harry.’

Harry looked at them all. He thought of the mirror, of what he had and what he wanted so desperately. 

He summoned whatever ancestral Gryffindor courage he had. 

He pushed away his tea, looking at them looking at him expectantly.

‘I’ve given it some thought,’ Harry said. ‘And I really love this, all of this.’ He gestured to the kitchen. ‘I… I want to be adopted. By you.’

He closed his eyes, waiting for them to say that they wouldn’t, that he wasn’t being realistic, that he was foolish, that he didn’t belong with them ever, that it was all a dream he’d cooked up for himself. 

He didn’t hear anything of the sort. He heard nothing but breathing or the ticking of the clock. 

He opened his eyes. The three of them were smiling. Andromeda had a tear rolling down her cheek.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Of course we will.’

Harry smiled and shot up. The Tonkses did as well. They hugged again, more whole and more… just more. 

In that comfort, Harry was at peace. 

The Dursleys couldn’t touch him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. I hope you've enjoyed this excursion into my AU. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope to get the second novel out sooner rather than later. Even if it's a long time in coming, I promise I haven't abandoned this. 
> 
> The second book is titled The False Heir and follows Harry through his second year. It is noticeably darker in some POVs than this book is, and that is intentional. I won't post the fic until I have completed the entire fic and have had it beta'ed. 
> 
> Until then, I wish you all the very best.


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